Gods' Gift
by Zathara001
Summary: Dick and Donna. A gift from Olympus; a plot in Bludhaven; villains, monsters, and a bit of sex. Have we left anything out?
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer:

None of the characters or settings in this story belong to the authors; said characters and settings are the property of whichever parent company owns DC Comics. The authors would truly LIKE to own Nightwing, at least for a night each, but sadly that's not the case. So instead, we just borrowed him for a little playtime, trusting that DC and its parent won't mind if we return him undamaged.

-X- -X- -X-

Authors' Note:

This story was co-written by Alteva101 and Zathara001. You can find our solo stories elsewhere on this site.

Both of us are serious continuity sluts when we're writing fanfiction. We try to stay as close to canon as possible, and when we choose to violate it, we want to know exactly what we're violating and how and why. This note is for all the other continuity sluts out there…

Dick's timeline: The story takes place after Nightwing #15, and after the Nightwing/Huntress Limited Series, but before the Outsiders series.

Donna's timeline: The story takes place between Wonder Woman (second series) issues 136 and 139, while Diana is still Goddess of Truth.

And it goes AU from there, pretty much right away.

Guest stars: Wonder Woman, Green Lantern, Batman, Arsenal, Hippolyta, a whole bunch of Amazons, the Justice League, and one who'll remain a surprise…

Hope you enjoy reading it as much as we enjoyed writing it.

-X- -X- -X-

Dealing with the gods is a lot like dealing with the Justice League, except there are more female gods than female Leaguers.

I grew up in the company of women, so I should feel more comfortable here than at League meetings. But I suspect the League, though mostly male and not all human, would understand Donna's problem more readily than these gods. The Leaguers understand the human longing for companionship. In contrast, each god, all too human in some ways, is more an icon of some particular virtue than a complete person.

Though I share their godhood, in this I am not their kin. I still understand the full range of human need.

The carved stone of Olympus reminds me of my home on Themyscira, except that no Amazon architect could have built the multi-angled space the gods call home. From my platform -- and really it can be called little else -- I look down on the roofs of palaces, up toward column-ringed gardens, and sideways to luxurious gathering spaces. Each god or goddess competes for presence. Hera's stately hall dominates the space above Aphrodite's opulent bath. Artemis' forests encroach on the practice fields of Ares where heavy banners snap in a breeze that blows only there.

I have so far refused to carve out a similar dwelling place for Truth. Perhaps standing on this tiny blank circle of stone is my way of maintaining humanity in this strange world. I feel alone here, as I never have on Earth. In this moment, I know how my sister Donna would feel if all her long life left her was our Amazon home.

Athena soothes the owl on its perch beside her. "The goddess of Truth's request has merit."

"It may," Ares shoots back, his words as accurate as his blade. I keep the thought to myself. "But there is no man on earth who merits the sister of a goddess."

"I wouldn't say that." Aphrodite flicks bathwater at one of the half-dozen gorgeous young men attending her, giggling.

"Your definition of merit is lacking," Ares retorts.

"And your definition is not a woman's." Hera's quiet voice carries the power to still even the god of war. "Young Donna has suffered greatly. The right companion might well ease her hurt. Still, the wrong one will only bring her more pain."

"Is suffering sufficient reason to reward?" Apollo asks from his couch. His fingers idly pluck the lyre resting on his lap. "Soul-sister-self of Diana this Donna may be, but she does not acknowledge us, except in the most perfunctory manner."

"She can choose a companion from among her Amazon sisters." Artemis emerges from the concealing shadows of her forest. As always when the subject of men arises, her expression is bitter. I know some of the hurts she has suffered, but I suspect, not all. "She should not need a human, or a man."

"Or our aid," Apollo adds.

"If she were as fully Amazon as I am, you would be correct, Artemis." I am a goddess too. I have the right, and in this instance the duty, to argue with them. "But, she is not me. We have not been the same since I was twelve."

"Perhaps, Diana, you will explain the logic behind your request? Not all of us here are as familiar with Donna as you are." Of all the gods who have been sculpted by human and Amazon alike, Athena is the only one who maintains as classically neutral an expression in life as in stone. This cold, distant aspect makes me shiver, even when I sense she supports my cause.

"When I was twelve," I begin, "and the only child among thousands of adults, I yearned for a companion my own age. The sorceress Magala created a doppelganger of me as a playmate."

It's hard to face the truths that ride on the back of these memories. How selfish I was and how little I valued the girl who would become my sister. How careless I was of her that I allowed her to vanish into prison and darkness without a thought. The sorceress said she'd dissipated and I allowed that to stand rather than search for her. "Neither of us knew, as we played together, that the wandering spirit called Dark Angel planned to use me for revenge. My mother, Hippolyta, defeated Dark Angel during Earth's Second World War, and Dark Angel sought to drive her insane with grief. I was the intended victim, as I said, but it was Donna whom Dark Angel kidnapped just six months after she had been created."

"That you feel guilt and indebted to her we all understand. But it is not yet clear why those feelings should sway us." Apollo is a passionate god, but he will temper his passion with reason as cold and impersonal as Athena's visage when it suits him. He calls this balanced thought. I would call it whim were I not trying to persuade.

"The debt is one of justice, therefore we all carry it." I have to gather my thoughts and make this argument based on reason rather than merely the love I feel for my sister, though such passions have swayed the gods before. That was when their -- our -- power was far greater than it is now. It will cost them to grant this gift. "Donna suffered thousands of lifetimes, each more painful than the last. In each one she lost people she loved dearly. Yes, we saved her and brought her home. Yes, we made her whole and she is about to be granted the full rights of a princess among the Amazons. But, Dark Angel's plan was deeper and more insidious than any of us then understood."

They lean closer. They like mysteries. "All those lifetimes spent among humans made Donna more human than Amazon. Life among her sisters will never be enough for her. She needs contact with the world outside Themyscira. And, being immortal when they are not, she is doomed to suffer a thousand more lifetimes of pain when each generation of friends and family die."

I make a point of looking each of them in the eyes before continuing. "My mother, who has ever been most worthy and faithful, Apollo, now loves Donna. She will suffer with her daughter through all these lifetimes as well, impotent to ease her child's pain. And Donna herself will grow bitter, angry. Dark Angel will win despite our efforts. This is wrong. The gods cannot allow it."

"You make a persuasive argument," Apollo admits. I'm surprised to hear him say it, but I have forgotten that Greek argument balanced emotion and reason in equal parts. "But there is a danger you've not considered."

"What danger, Phoebos?" From the corner of my eye, I see Artemis stiffen and frown.

"God-gifts are potent. We give them rarely, lest they be abused. When they reach Earth we are powerless to control them."

"Aye," Athena says slowly. "In the past, such things have been misused."

I know some legends, not all. Truth tells me they speak of some specific crime and would hold Donna accountable for the faults of one long dead. "Donna is as trustworthy with such things as I am."

"Even so," Apollo says, "accidents can happen."

"Accidents aside," Ares interrupts. "How will granting immortality to one worthless human prevent the Amazon queen's pain?"

I must speak truth, but without insult. Heracles himself never labored so hard. "Within my living memory we have seen what happens when one with great power loses connection to his true soul. Ares, you yourself nearly destroyed the world. Fear of loneliness stayed your hand. What will stay Donna's if you force her to be alone?"

"We could kill her." Artemis fingers the string of her great bow. I quiver when I realize she prefers that solution. The discussion of gifts abused has put her in a foul mood. I suspect she may have been the victim of that hidden crime, but I don't know.

It is her challenge I must refute, and I am ready. "You would kill an innocent and reduce our worshippers even further, huntress? Regardless of how little your brother values her devotion, Donna recognizes and honors the gods. And it is wrong to kill the guiltless. Give her an immortal companion. Increase y-- our followers, not just now, but by every child they create."

There are no more words. I have made my plea, and now I await their decision.

"You speak with wisdom, Diana," Athena says. Her owl has settled and appears to sleep. I know better. "As I expect, from one to whom I gave that gift."

I appreciate how quickly she supports me, but her support alone is not enough. No one of us is allowed to grant the gift of immortality unilaterally, save the king of the gods.

"I would grant this request, if a worthy suitor can be found." Hera is slower, and more cautious, but as queen, her agreement eases my heart. I begin to think this effort is not in vain.

"Suitor?" The scorn in Artemis' tone stops my hope before it has fully formed. "She needs none, nor will I assist in granting any human such power."

"Nor shall I." Apollo crosses his arms and turns his head away. I think his stubbornness is more in support of his sister than from conviction -- unless Donna refused his advances sometime in the past. I suppose that is not impossible.

"Three to two," Ares announces. "Done."

"Three to three, Ares." Athena seems to enjoy correcting him. Her impassive demeanor has not changed, but I would swear I see a hint of a smile. "Diana is goddess in her own right and has a vote as well."

"Still done," Ares says. "We are tied, and a tie falls against the petitioner."

"Not yet done. The lord of the underworld has yet to vote," Athena points out. All eyes turn to the tomb-like darkness that surrounds the iron hall of Hades. He stands, stony and still, as he has since this meeting began. Beside him, his wife glows gently, pale as a ghost in the land of the dead. "What say you, Hades, to granting immortality to the one the Amazon Donna could love?"

"Elysium awaits his arrival." His voice is chill and hollow, and I think none of us gods avoid a shiver in our minds, even if we do not show it. "What reason have I to refuse his entry there?"

And my heart sinks. But then, Persephone rises on tiptoes to whisper in Hades' ear. I cannot hear her voice, but I see the single word her lips form. Love.

The dread god's expression has softened, and he looks down at his wife, smiling. To the assembly he says, "I vote in favor."

"Four to three in favor," Athena announces. "The decision is made."

"I am always forgotten." Aphrodite pouts. She rests her perfect arms on the edge of her marble pool, allowing one of her attendant men to soap them.

"I meant no slight, Aphrodite," Athena says. "But you did appear to be enjoying your bath."

"Indeed I am. And yet I have an opinion. Immortal life would be tediously dull bound to only one man. Let Donna enjoy the favors of many men, life after life. She will learn to enjoy it, as I do."

"Tied again." Ares sounds satisfied. "And none else present to vote."

I should have called for Poseidon, or perhaps Hermes, both of whom have supported me in the past, but there is no point in berating my poor planning. I feel the truth beating on me. My failure now means my sister's pain, just as my childhood carelessness allowed her to be taken in my stead. Zeus help me, I don't know what to do.

A clap of thunder answers my silent plea, and Olympus itself shifts to accommodate the arrival of the king of the gods. His golden throne is covered with carvings of bulls and eagles. It sits on a dark rolling cloud that surrounds the houses of the other gods. I wonder at the threat that gray mist carries, for all the gods all grow still as it approaches them. A glance downward tells me even my platform is surrounded by the mist, so I remain silent, cursing my stupidity.

The cloud at the base of my platform blackens as Zeus turns his attention to me. "It appears that you are trying to coax gifts from us, young goddess. Gifts that will benefit one who does not worship us."

"It was not Donna's choice to be taken from Themyscira, to have her memories of her true home wiped away, to be tortured," I reply. "But she is returned now, and did you not observe the ceremony by which my mother welcomed her home? Donna gave all thanks to the gods, then. She is loyal, and now that she remembers us, she will worship us, as I did when I was but an Amazon."

Zeus nods, lifting my fear. But, when he speaks, his voice remains a storm, unpredictable and dangerous. "And what of the young man who receives this gift? What guarantees do you make for him?"

I think of Kyle, his generosity, his open heart, his courage and loyalty. He has impressed the Justice League and the Titans despite his youth. Even Batman -- stoic, implacable Batman -- respects him. It will be difficult to find anyone more deserving of the gods' gift than he, and he is already accustomed to giving his loyalty and service to alien beings who, while not gods themselves, wield nearly as much power. I am confident when I say, "None of us will take away any mortal's freedom of will. But he will know from whence his gift comes, and he will not be ungrateful."

Zeus falls silent, considering perhaps, for several moments. "You speak well of the one Donna might choose. But words are only noise. Your sister will prove her worthiness in her choice of mate, as will the young man in his time. However, you Diana, as petitioner, must offer more. What will you sacrifice for your sister's happiness?"

It is on my lips to say, "Everything," but that would be most unwise. The gods can be quite literal. I consider for a moment, and offer the one thing they cannot expect. "My godhood."

"A wise decision," he replies. Before I can reconsider, a silver bowl full of clear liquid appears before me. The threads of Zeus' clouds rise around me. They pass through me, through the bowl, which glows slightly golden for a moment, and then I stand as frail as a mortal among gods.

I reach for the bowl. It vanishes before my hand touches it, reappearing at Zeus' side.

"Not yet, daughter. The gods, at my command, will blend further gifts into this draught, blessings for him who tastes it, and guidance for your sister in her choice. If she understands and honors us as you claim, she will choose well."

"You are testing her." It's not a question.

"Gifts are always a test." Zeus smiles, and I quiver more than I did at the thought of Artemis killing Donna. My gift for truth is not diminished by my loss of godhood. It has shown me what he would have preferred to hide.

This test is also a trap -- not just for Donna, but also for Kyle, and yes, for me as well. I cannot see the trigger or the cage, but I know the god who set it. No Olympian ever gives gift or test for the good of a human alone. And Zeus is more self-serving than most. He wants something from Donna, and I was too blind -- perhaps my own divinity was blindly selfish -- to see the danger when I asked for this gift.

Whatever the king of gods wants, whatever he plans, he intends to win this game he has begun. Like the video games Cassie sometimes plays, this is only the first level. The worse challenge comes later. And I fear I will not be able to help Donna when she comes to it. I can only hope Kyle will.

"Her lover will need my gift," Aphrodite rises from her bath and stretches out her hand for the chalice, "if Donna is to be satisfied with him forever."

The chalice remains where it is, resting on the arm of Zeus' throne.

"You have already blessed him," Zeus tells her.

"That is possible," Aphrodite admits. "I do try to be generous."

The king of the god smiles down at me and I feel very small. "Understand, Diana, if Donna chooses wisely, this will be a great blessing. But, if she chooses poorly, it will prove a curse instead. Bide now, Princess-once-goddess. Enjoy the ease of Olympus while we craft this gift."

I nod, and the council dissolves around me, leaving me in a courtyard with a fountain and white marble benches. The tranquil setting does little to calm the nervousness that has grown since I realized there would be no gift, only a deadly danger.

I wish I could move back through time and rescind my request. Better that Donna live a life of loneliness than endure whatever the king of the gods has planned for her. But, I could not bend time even when I was a goddess. Nor can I refuse Zeus' false blessing. To do so would be to insult them all and bring retribution more swiftly and more harshly.

But, there is some reason for hope. Donna is smart and brave. Kyle is inventive if nothing else. Whatever Zeus wants from Donna, and I can only think he means to use her to his own ends and most likely to her death, I have to believe Donna and Kyle together will discover the way to turn the god's game to their advantage and win.

I trust Donna. She will choose well. She must.

-X-

Bludhaven drove everyone crazy. That was the only conclusion Nightwing could come to as he watched Benjamin 'Benny' Bianchi saunter down the street free as the proverbial canary despite being into Blockbuster's machine for about four grand. Crime lords didn't come to this city to get soft, so crazy was the only other option for why Blocky let Benny go after dragging him off the street a month ago.

The crooks in town were good at looking over their shoulders for the likes of Blockbuster, wary of drive by shooters or other thugs. But they weren't used to dealing with a vigilante. In Gotham, the bad guys studied every shadow, nervous, half-expecting Batman to spring from the smallest crack. The smarter ones even looked up toward the rooftops. That habit hadn't formed in Bludhaven yet -- which meant Benny only watched the street for cars before turning into King Street.

It was three blocks to Bianchi's boarding house by the main streets, but a narrow alley cut the distance in half. Benny would like that for a couple reasons. His pockets were full of take from the rigged game he ran down on 12th, and he'd want the fastest way home. He'd like the shadows, and the space was too tight for those passing cars that made him nervous. For Nightwing, the alley offered a good interrogation spot, something Benny wouldn't consider in his route evaluation.

Nightwing leapt to the next rooftop, diving into a roll and regaining his feet smoothly. It was good to be back in action, in almost his top form. Even a week ago, he'd wondered if his body would ever purge the psychotropic drugs that the infamous Dr. Crane had forced on him.

It had been three weeks ago, right after Blockbuster nabbed Benny Bianchi. Nightwing had been closing in on Bludhaven's new crime lord with the dubious assistance of one Inspector Soames, but just before he could break the case, Soames showed his true colors and got the drop on him. Nightwing had woken up -- if you could call it that -- in the sadistic care of Dr. Crane, the Scarecrow. And the next few days had been lost to an ugly psycho-torture illusion.

Crane used drugs and hypnotic suggestion to conjure a horrible life for him -- trapped in a pointless job, poor, weak and inferior in every way to a next-door neighbor conveniently cast as Bruce. Crane's poisons found his every insecurity and brought them to the surface. Even at his lowest, Nightwing had never felt quite as worthless as he had in those nightmares.

Eventually, he'd recovered himself, defeated Crane, and in the subsequent investigation, discovered the identity of Bludhaven's new crime lord -- Roland Desmond. Blockbuster. He'd known the city was doomed, but Blockbuster was the sort of nightmare a place didn't wake up from. Blockbuster was violent, unpredictable, a storm of destruction packaged as a man, a nightmare that made Crane's drug-induced nightmare almost pleasant.

Pleasant. He mulled the word over, surprised to find that it actually described some parts of the nightmare. In that illusory life, he'd had kids, a wife. Those only existed so he would care when Crane ripped the dream life away, but for that brief time the family was his. He'd loved them. Those brief moments of joy had reminded him why life was worth fighting for. Now that he was whole and strong again the portions of nightmare that lingered in his mind centered around being married to, of all people, Donna.

Why Donna? That was the question he picked at like it was a healing wound.

Nightwing knew how Crane worked. Find the weakest point, find the worst moment, then use that to pry the subject's mind apart. So, there had to be a reason why the dream gave him Donna as a wife rather than Kory, or Barbara, or even Helena, hell -- any woman he'd actually slept with. Unfortunately, any reason he constructed for Donna's presence in his dream offered more confusion than illumination.

"Crazy," he muttered as he tailed Benny from King to Carpenter. "This city is getting to me, too. I didn't expect it so soon."

Finally, Benny turned into the alley that joined Carpenter to Brideway. Like all Bludhaven alleys, the passage was dark, garbage-strewn and stank all the way up to the rooftop. Nightwing ran a couple of steps ahead of his mark and vaulted off the roof onto the broken pavement below.

Benny was one of those seedy hoods who liked to wear his shirts tight and his jeans low enough to exaggerate a belly suspended halfway in its journey to fat. He wore too many rings, probably assuming that they made him look tougher than he actually was. A stereotype, that was Benny. But tonight he looked rattier than usual. He hadn't changed his clothes for at least a week, maybe since his capture. He reeked more than the alley. He also didn't notice he had company until Nightwing stepped right in front of him.

"Benny! Where you been, man?" Nightwing caught hold of the hood's arm in case he was stupid enough to run. "The 'Haven hasn't been the same without you."

"Nuh -- Nuh -- Nightwing."

"Aww, you remember me. Tell me what else you remember, Benny. Like where you've been, what you've been doing. And why Blockbuster let you go."

"What makes you think I got anything to do with him?" Benny tugged in a half-hearted attempt to free his arm, before a bout of sneezing thwarted even that frail effort.

"You owe him four grand from that little venture with the horses that went sour. And he's not in the business of forgiving debts." Nightwing's hand tightened on Benny's unusually scrawny bicep. "So why'd he let you go?"

"I paid my debt." Benny had less fight in him than normal. In fact, Nightwing thought, he looked more exhausted than afraid. "I swear on my sister's ... ah hell, I just swear. I don't know nothing."

"Where'd you get the money, Benny? Four grand plus interest isn't easy to come by."

"Paid in labor." Benny sagged a bit. "I'm tried, man. Sick. I got to get home."

What kind of labor left a man with less muscle than he started with? Batman would've intimidated the rest of the information from Benny, if not beaten it out of him, but that wasn't Nightwing's style. He preferred the whole get-more-bees-with-honey thing, when he wanted bees that buzzed, that is. "You can rest as soon as you tell me about the job you've been doing for Blockbuster. Come on, Benny, give me something to go on."

"Okay, okay." Benny coughed and slapped his chest as if to clear it. A fine dust rose from his shirt. "It was in the old Kreder mine. I don't know what the big man wants down there, I swear. He just had a bunch of us digging in the place. Maybe he plans to give the governor lung cancer."

There was more, Nightwing could sense it, but he wouldn't learn it if Benny collapsed in his arms. "Go home, Benny," he told the other man gently. "Sleep it off. We'll talk again."

Nightwing watched Benny stagger down the alley for a moment, then reached for his grappling gun. In the glare of a single functioning streetlight, his black glove glittered white.

It took a moment to bag the sample. Asbestos, probably, since that was the only thing ever mined in Bludhaven, but you never knew for sure. He sealed the bag and stuffed it into a compartment on his wristguard.

Overhead, at the very corner of his vision, a shadow caught his attention. Though he hadn't heard a sound, he marked the position of the intruder on the rooftop even as he spun, a wing-ding in his hand ready to fly.

A woman stood above and to his left, nothing but a black shape against the light-polluted sky, but that was enough. Nightwing felt the battle tension leave his body and he returned the wing-ding to its place. He recognized Donna by her silhouette alone.

"There you are," she called down. "I thought I heard your voice, but couldn't see you."

"Yeah, well, shadows are my friends." He brought out the grappling gun and seconds later stood beside her on the uneven shingles. "Playing tourist in Bludhaven?"

"Because the setting is so ... aromatic." She wrinkled her nose, half-teasing. Then she lifted her chin, met his gaze squarely. "I have a puzzle, and I need your help to solve it."

"Not the _Times_ crossword puzzle, obviously." Nightwing retracted his jumpline. "Nor, I'd guess, something we should be talking about openly."

"Probably not."

He'd planned to pursue more leads on Blockbuster's new amnesty program, but Donna's expression told him she was near desperation. He'd seen that look on her face scarcely six weeks ago, right after Terry and her son died, too. That was before Crane's nightmares laid him low, before he'd imagined himself as her husband. He shook free of those memories. Whatever Donna needed would come before investigation, and certainly before his own personal confusion. "I can be back at my place in ten minutes. How's that?"

"I'll let myself in if I get there before you." She didn't have to thank him. The relief in her eyes said it for her.

-X-

The hacker known as Mouse felt trapped by her new employer. Here she sat in Mr. Desmond's home theater, a space five times larger than the one her father had built in their White Plains basement, and she still felt crowded. Desmond used up all the air around him, making her struggle for breath. He soaked up the heat too, it seemed. The room felt like a refrigerator. Her fingers were growing numb and clumsy.

Her thoughts strayed to her parents' house back in Westchester County. She'd hated that den of suburban banality where she'd been too white and too bright to ever be dangerous or cool. Then she'd met Giz -- her dark techno-wizard, her nosferatu, her Mephistopheles.

He'd been an outlaw on the information highway while she was just a brown-haired, Methodist chick from the 'burbs. He'd told her they would steal the world, become legends, a cyberspace version of Bonnie and Clyde. And she'd loved him from the moment he stole her away from home. She'd been sixteen.

She was now twenty-three and Giz sat beside her, blowing on his own hands whenever he thought Mr. Desmond's attention focused elsewhere. Mouse wished she dared smile at him, perhaps for his comfort, perhaps for her own.

They'd seen the world. They'd been outlaws. But, her years with Giz had not prepared her for this task that never seemed to end in Desmond's stark, modern, evil house.

She glanced over at Desmond, whose massive hand covered Giz's shoulder. Her husband's face had gone white with fear. She'd never seen him this way before. He didn't expect to live through the night. Mouse feared he was right.

How long had she sat freezing in this theater, her every keystroke snapping like a klaxon in the hollow room, her failed attempts flashing on the huge screen at the far end of the room? She really needed to keep her mind on the job. Numb-fingered speculation was not a healthy occupation when their massive employer was growing impatient.

"How long?" Desmond asked. His fingers flexed and Mouse swore she could hear the bones grind in Giz's shoulder.

"How much do you understand this process, sir?" Mouse tried to make her voice sound polite. What she wanted to shout was, 'Do you think I'll work harder if you kill him?' Did Desmond comprehend the difficulty of what he'd asked her to do, or did he just expect immediate results because he was big and powerful and had money?

"I understand results."

"Right, sir." She'd already searched every conventional database for references to Johann Kreder. He'd been one of Bludhaven's most prominent citizens back in the 60s when the city had been as wealthy as its northern neighbor, Gotham. Before that, Kreder had been an artifact hunter for Hitler and spent most of his time scouring the Middle East and other locations for items of occult importance. It wasn't a very prestigious line of work, Mouse thought, but it had kept Kreder out of Europe for most of the war.

Further, Kreder had disappeared after an expedition to the island of Delos. He'd simply vanished in 1943 and then turned up in Bludhaven just in time to ride the asbestos boom in the 50s. Rumors bordering on legend had it that he'd stolen something from the Nazis and been forced to go into hiding until the war ended.

The rumors didn't end after Kreder moved to Bludhaven. In a foretaste of things to come, he'd not only owned the largest asbestos mine in the area, he'd also been the head of a criminal syndicate. More recent rumors suggested he'd had a special way of eliminating all those who opposed him.

In fact, Mouse had confirmed every rumor Mr. Desmond had brought her and Giz at the start of this hack. Still, he wasn't satisfied. Now, Desmond expected Mouse to pull the specs on Kreder's special weapon out of nothing. He wouldn't accept that the information didn't exist.

"If you had an image of the weapon, sir, that would help." Mouse had hacked a facial recognition program a while back. She'd added some code and could now use the program to compare all sorts of images clandestinely. She and Giz had cleaned up with fences using that program. But, it was useless if Desmond didn't know what the weapon looked like.

"If I had a picture of it, I wouldn't need you," the big man growled.

And that would suit Mouse fine, but she couldn't voice the thought. "I just meant--"

"Try the Oracle's database again."

Mouse swore there was a growl behind the monster's order. Before she could protest, Giz shot back, "She can't hack that."

Her husband's hands continued to move across his own keyboard. But he'd always been her backup, not a front runner. This was on her head.

"I thought you were supposed to be the best." Desmond's voice rose dangerously.

"Nobody can hack it," Giz said, trying to sound calm. "Look, most hackers work off of social engineering weaknesses. They meet the other programmer on a message board or forum, for example, learn something about him. You run it like any other con. But Oracle -- dude, Oracle's a rumor built on a legend built on a fairy tale. Nobody's ever met him."

"So do it the old-fashioned way. Do the math."

"Mathematically, it's not going to happen," Giz said.

Desmond growled, and Mouse hurried to explain. "There's no way of knowing how large an encryption key this Oracle person has used, but we can reasonably assume it's more than 1024 bits, which is 128 characters, so the number of possible combinations is 128 to the 46th power. Do you know what the word for that many numbers is? Googol. Not the search engine."

"If anyone has the information I need, it's Oracle." Desmond accentuated every syllable as he spoke. His upper lip twitched as if it wanted to snarl.

Giz chuckled at the insistence. "Then maybe you ought to post to Usenet groups offering to buy the information from him."

A roar exploded out of Desmond. Mouse watched as the giant man pulled Giz out of his chair. Giz's laptop went spinning. Her husband landed on the floor. Desmond's huge foot rose, then fell. Mouse felt a shriek pull up from her throat, rattle past her teeth. The sound of bone snapping accompanied the crash of the computer. And then all she could hear was the blood in her ears, and Desmond's heavy breathing. Giz made no sound at all. She was afraid to look at him.

"Crack it," Desmond said. "Before I run out of bones to break."

Ohgodohgodohgod. Mouse couldn't give in to the hysteria that engulfed her. If she did, neither one of them would leave this room alive.

She turned back to her keyboard, frantically searching her memory for any bit of information she might've heard about Oracle.

There was nothing. Nothing. Nobody had ever used the name Oracle in any forum or board she'd visited. Her eyes squeezed shut in a vain attempt to hold back tears. But, the darkness behind her eyelids only amplified the mental replay of Desmond's outburst -- crash, crunch, no screams. Then she blinked.

No, there hadn't been anyone using the handle Oracle, but once, a year or so ago, there had been a Delphi. Think, Mouse! What about Delphi?

Her fingers moved over the keyboard again, and after a moment, a snippet of conversation filled the room.

"Hecate is also darkness, a goddess of the underworld. Poseidon is also lord of horses. Apollo is light, and music, and healing. It's more complicated than it first seems." The voice belonged to a woman. Before them, on the massive screen, she materialized as a long-haired brunette with her back to the camera. She took something small and glittery from a handsome, dark-haired man.

"Bulls, too, for Poseidon, right?" the man asked.

"What's that?" Desmond studied the screen.

"Something from the Oracle," Mouse hedged.

"You breached the database?" Desmond's question held none of the savagery she'd grown accustomed to from him. Instead, he seemed distracted by the couple on the screen.

"No, I got past the first round of blocks. Think of it like breaching the outer wall of a fortress. There are more walls, tougher walls. And there may be other security measures that will dump us at any second. I'm recording, so whatever we get, we have."

Mouse prayed to the god she didn't believe in that Desmond would be satisfied with whatever discussion she'd found. It had nothing to do with Kreder, or the mines, but he seemed fascinated by the crystal vial the man twirled in his fingers.

"What is this? When did it happen?"

Mouse tried not to let her sudden relief show in her face. Like a dog catching a new scent, Desmond had focused on the vial instead of the mine. She checked her display. "Live. There's a few second delay due to transmission time, but it's happening now."

Desmond smiled. "Show me as much as you have."

She backed the video to where her hack started, and replayed it. Then, as Desmond watched the screen, she slipped from her chair to kneel by Giz. He was breathing, but shocky. His right leg had been crushed above the knee. She saw blood spotting his trouser leg, but it wasn't a flood. Maybe his artery hadn't been severed. Maybe they would get out of this.

He'd promised her once that they would go to Hawaii and lay on a beach for a month. Just as soon as they pulled a big job. "This was it," she whispered in his ear. "The big hack. This was it."


	2. Chapter 2

He's still not ours, more's the pity. We're just having fun with him for a while.

-X- -X- -X- -X- -X-

Dick Grayson studied the glass vial in his hands. "The surface suggests hand made, by an ancient technique. I'd say Roman, but I'm betting older, right? The etched design is protogeometric, so maybe Greek. And it's not made with lead." He turned the object over, watched the liquid inside tilt slowly, effervescent bubbles rising as it moved inside the perfectly clear container. "Platinum glass?"

"Since when do you know ancient Greek design, not to mention glassworking?" Donna Troy asked around a mouthful of pizza.

"Since when do you talk with your mouth full?" He tried to focus on the vial, but kept noticing the fullness of her lips, the elegance of her fingers, her curves.

Strange how the nightmares had changed his perceptions. Before, any attraction he'd felt for her had been safely channeled in the best friends direction. Now, he couldn't quite see her that way. She'd changed from her Troia costume to a light cotton dress that clung a bit in the right places and he couldn't help remembering the dream where he knew what it would be like to take her clothes off slowly. Of course, in the nightmares everything she wore had been too tight and short with not enough buttons, and he really didn't like what that said about his brain. What he needed to remember was that this wasn't the Donna of his nightmare. This was the Donna he'd known almost half his life, his best friend.

"Good thing Bludhaven has all-night delivery. I was starving," she said, licking sauce from one long, slender finger, and Dick had to yank thoughts back. Donna didn't belong in the gutter with them.

He forced himself to see her as simply enjoying the pizza, her eyes half closed as she chewed. The Donna he'd grown up with enjoyed everything in life. He was glad to have her back. The nightmare Donna had seemed only tired and worn, and he should remember that too.

"You're right about the material," she said, nudging him back to the immediate problem. "But wrong about the dating. I think. I mean, who can know, when the gods are involved?"

There was another proof that his nightmares had no bearing on reality. The Donna from his dream had been a normal woman, as he'd been just a normal guy. The real Donna's life was tied up with the Olympians and the Titans and other beings of disturbingly vast power.

Dick refused to call them gods. He'd met the mythological Titans once, helping Donna learn her origins. He'd met them again when they'd brainwashed her into believing she herself was one of them. Just recently, he'd heard her sister, Diana, had become a goddess, and he supposed she might at least do a reasonable job. But to Dick the rest of them seemed petty and overly meddlesome. He demanded more nobility of a being before he was willing to assign it divine status.

He should hand her back the vial, tell her to solve her own puzzle, tell her that he was done with her gods and their petty bickering that always seemed to screw up people's lives. He had Bludhaven's problems to solve, and the nightmares were still messing with his head. Her presence was messing with him, too, because of those dreams. But this was Donna, his oldest, dearest friend. He couldn't refuse her.

He gave the vial a slight shake. "So, why'd they give you some fancy soda pop?"

"It's ambrosia."

The vial in his hand seemed suddenly tainted, radioactive. He wanted to throw it back at her. Instead he closed his fist around the glass, hiding it and protecting it in the same gesture. "Elixir of the gods? Source of their immortality and power?"

"And that was before some of them blessed it."

"Blessed it? Or cursed it? Your Greek deities aren't known for their loving compassion."

"Apparently that depends on my wisdom in bestowing the gift. That's the puzzle, Dick. I have to decide what man gets this vial. How do I choose who deserves immortality and the gifts of several gods?"

His stomach clenched. "Donna, tell me what's really going on with this thing."

"You know what happened with Dark Angel?" She looked up at him, and he nodded.

Wally had told him about it, and he'd had to believe Wally, even if the story didn't make much sense to him. "She forced you to lead a series of lives, each one worse than the last, in order to punish the Amazon queen."

"Thinking I was Diana, yes. Diana felt guilty that I'd suffered in her place. She believes the Amazons aren't enough for me." Donna's lips tightened. "Maybe she knows me too well. I don't fit there, and I hate to think of life without my friends in the mortal world."

"So -- what? She made this potion?"

"No, she asked for it. Zeus ordered several of the gods to bless it with gifts fitting my ideal partner."

"You mean like a husband?" The nightmare tickled his thoughts again. He'd been her husband, and a damned bad one. He pushed that aside to focus on the more immediate concern.

"I think that's what Diana meant." Donna stepped away from him. She looked like she wanted to pace, but instead took a seat on the couch. Tension stiffened every line of her body. "That's the puzzle part. Zeus told her that if I know the gods who blessed this well enough I'll give it to the right man. But, I don't know them. I don't know who to choose."

Dick now understood why she'd put the vial into his hands as soon as he'd finished changing into civvies. She didn't trust herself not to shatter the thing or throw it away. Not completely. Not yet. She was angry. She expected him to maintain a cooler head and realize that you didn't simply dispose of something created by ... yes, he'd have to admit it in this context ... gods.

But, she was asking for more than restraint from him. She needed a solution. She needed him to help her pick an eternal lover. Could his day get any worse?

She was looking at him, waiting. He had to say something. "Why do you have to give it to anyone?"

"Because it's a gift to me. I'll insult the gods who blessed the vial if I don't use it."

And divine or not, the Olympians took insult seriously. He had to help her, even if it tore him apart to do so. "Which gods are we talking about? And what gifts did they give?"

"We know of two gifts, for sure. When he brought her home, Hermes told Diana he'd offered the same powers he gave her -- speed and flight."

So the lucky guy got Donna and the ability to fly. Dick perched on the coffee table in front of her. With luck envy didn't show on his face. "And the other known gift?"

"Diana said that Aphrodite offered her gift, but Zeus said she'd already blessed him, so it wasn't needed for this potion."

"Well, that lets me out," Dick forced a grin and hoped it appeared genuine. "Love and I haven't been on the best of terms."

"I think with Aphrodite it's more desire and beauty."

"Please tell me you aren't thinking of Roy." He fought to keep his tone light, joking. He'd been married to Donna in the nightmare, yes, but that hadn't stopped her from having an affair with Roy Harper. The thought rankled, even though Donna and Roy had dated in real life. Now, the possibility of dealing with an eternally young Roy Harper while he was in his dotage made Dick glad he hadn't eaten in a while.

"Roy?" Donna stared at him as though he'd taken leave of his wits. "No, not at all. We worked it out. We're friends, but that's all."

Like us, Dick thought. The hard-won humor drained out of him. He pushed the drug-dreams far enough back he expected them to imprint on his skull, and forced himself to see the truth. He was going to help her solve the gods' riddle. She was going to chose a lover and make him immortal, stay with him forever. And Dick would smile when it happened and say he was happy for her, just as he had when she married Terry Long. Because he loved her.

"So, who are the other gods we're dealing with?" he made himself ask.

"Apollo, Hecate, Poseidon, and Hephaestus."

"Sun and moon, sea and smith. A strange mix."

"Hecate is also darkness, a goddess of the underworld. Poseidon is also lord of horses."

She took the vial from his hands and turned it over so the light refracted through the glass. Dick could see fear in her eyes. But, he also sensed that she wouldn't give in to that fear. "Apollo is light, and music, and healing. It's more complicated than it first seems."

Donna glanced away, and Dick realized what had motivated her sister to ask for this gift. He'd never seen before how lonely Donna was. He remembered her as he'd first seen her, full of energy and awe for the big world around her. Until this moment, he hadn't seen the desperation that drove her to Terry. She was strong, and hid things like that almost as well as he did.

"Bulls, too, for Poseidon, right?" he asked, standing to pace his small apartment. He always thought best while in motion, and right now he needed to do his best for her.

"Yes. And dozens of other lesser aspects for all of them. I'm at a loss."

A starburst of intuition flashed in Dick's mind. "No wonder you're overwhelmed. You're thinking about the gods."

She looked confused. "But, Dick -- they said the answer lies in knowing them well."

"That's their game." He climbed onto the coffee table again, shoving the pizza box aside and squatting on the balls of his feet right in front of her. "Donna, first rule of winning is you don't let your opponent set the rules. This gift is for your perfect partner. It's not about the gods. It's about you."

He liked the determination that lit her eyes as much as he liked the smile that graced her lips. "See, I knew I was right to come to you. You see things so clearly."

"But? There is a but, isn't there?"

The smile faded, to be replaced by a lost expression that tore at his heart. "But, I don't know who is perfect for me. I don't know if I believe such a person exists. And, I don't trust that the Olympians know for sure who I would be happy with."

Dick bit back an automatic agreement. He didn't want to feed her cynicism about love. Kory, Barbara, the few other relationships in his life had proven there was no one for him. But, that didn't mean Donna was so unlucky.

Donna set the vial on the coffee table. "If I look at what I want, all I can think is that I don't want this burden. I don't want to be forced into choosing one person to spend eternity with."

"Then don't choose. Not now, anyway. I doubt that ambrosia has a use-by date. Hide it somewhere until you're ready."

"Hide it where, Dick? I can't let something like this fall into the wrong hands. The only really secure choices are places like the Batcave or Superman's Fortress."

"Batman would hide it for you. I'm sure he would." Dick frowned as soon as he said it and honesty compelled him to add the rest. "But, there's no guarantee that he wouldn't see some world crisis as a reason to dispense it himself."

"I know he'd hide it, or Superman would, if I asked, but it's not their responsibility. It's mine. I tried hiding from my responsibilities when I tried to live as a normal woman with Terry, and that didn't work. No, this is my burden."

That was one of the things he loved about Donna. She never took the easy road. She was always on the front lines, taking her share. Still he wished he could share the weight of this, or take it from her. "Okay, no hiding it, and no destroying it. And I'm guessing it would be a huge insult to just give it back."

"Master of understatement, aren't you?"

"At least I don't make all those horrible puns anymore." He grinned when she laughed. Then he sat on the couch beside her. Some anger or fear knotted his chest, trying to strangle the offer he knew he had to make. He'd never, now, feel free to explore all the questions that rose from his Crane-induced nightmares. There was no hiding from, or giving back, this gift. It had to be faced and he wouldn't let her face it alone. "I'll help you figure out who your perfect man is. I promise."

"Oh, thank you, Dick. Thank you." She threw her arms around him, and he folded her into his arms as he had so many times before. It felt natural to close his own arms around her, to feel her heart beating against his chest.

"I promise," he repeated.

-X-

Barbara Gordon settled her wheelchair into position before the huge bank of screens in her control center. It was only two-forty-five in the morning, but pain had woken her again. Pain in a nightmare or in reality, she could never be sure. All she knew was that she would wake suddenly in a sweat, certain that her legs were cramping. Then, as awareness grew and dream receded, the sensation would slowly die, and with it the hope that against all odds she might feel the rest of her body again.

She'd never told anyone, and never would, just how much damage the Joker's bullet had done. Oh, the damage to her spine was obvious. She couldn't walk, much less sail above the streets. But, the real damage was deeper. It was as if that one gunshot cut the cords that connected her to the life she'd known.

Like a phoenix, she had risen, changed yet still whole, from the physical destruction. Her mind, however, was locked in the fall and the flame, in the dying part. It wasn't the bullet the Joker shot into her that destroyed her -- it was the fear of the next bullet.

In some ways, fear was an asset. It made her install redundant systems on top of redundant systems for both the computer and premises security. It made her think of a dozen ways someone could break in beyond the hundreds every expert considered. It made her avoid all the places other cyber-masters hung out and showed off because she knew those were the places where one was most vulnerable. Anonymity was only effective as armor if it were maintained. Fear reminded the mysterious Oracle to remain secretive. It made her, in fact, invincible.

Fear served Oracle well, but it was killing Barbara Gordon. The Oracle, source of information and cyber-assistance for the Batman, for Nightwing, for the Justice League and select others, might be rising from Barbara's dying, but the Oracle was more machine than woman. Barbara feared she was becoming that sexless image she displayed on everyone's monitor screens, her voice as lifeless as the distorted one that she piped through speakers and earpieces.

Even as she set a steaming cup of tea on a coaster, a little voice in her head told her not to turn on the link to Dick's apartment. To watch him night after night was an invasion of his privacy, even if he had consented to the camera. Granted, she never watched him live unless she was talking to him. She restricted herself to stored recordings viewed after he'd gone to bed. Still, some part of her knew he'd be upset if he knew she spied on him.

Sometimes she lied to herself, pretending to believe he left his camera on because he wanted her to watch his life. But, Dick would have never been that cruel. A part of him had to know that he had everything she wanted and would never have again -- that endless well of courage that came with agility and strength, that ability to see every danger as something to be fought rather than feared. Barbara understood the real reason she watched him. She coveted his effortless movement, coveted more his ability to confront the world.

Unfortunately, if Dick knew she watched him, he would put a different meaning on the action. He would think she wanted more than her old life back. He would think that she wanted him personally, physically.

Maybe once she could have truly wanted intimacy with him. When she could sail with him in the sky, when she knew she was sexy and beautiful and strong, maybe she could have loved him as he wanted her to. The door to that sort of desire was closed to her now. Barbara was still strong, but all the push ups on the parallel bars, all the wheelchair Tai Chi and weapons practice, would never bring back the sensations she'd lost. She could live a life -- even a full life, she told herself -- but never a life shared with him.

So, as she did most nights, Barbara lost the battle with her conscience and turned on the link to his camera without letting him know she watched. If it was wrong, she'd live with the guilt. She didn't want to encourage him to hope for things she'd never want again. And yet, she couldn't resist watching, and remembering who Barbara Gordon had once been. Not Oracle. Batgirl.

Dick had a visitor tonight. He had visitors less often since he'd moved to Bludhaven, so the presence of one was a surprise. The identity of his visitor was a bigger surprise. Donna Troy, Troia, Amazon Princess, Barbara's mind ticked through the facts she knew about the woman. A friend from his Titans days, she recalled and relaxed into her seat. Not a danger. Not a threat.

She left the sound off, not caring what they discussed. It was Dick she wanted to watch. He could relax in his life. He had no need to be paranoid. He was still strong and healthy and able to fly at night. The pair ate pizza and passed a small, decorative vial between them. It was a pretty thing, and Barbara would have dismissed it if their expressions hadn't suggested the bauble was something much more serious.

If there had been a problem, Dick would have called her for information. He would have included her if there was a case. He hadn't. So, Barbara allowed her mind to drift. She allowed herself to remember what it was like to eat pizza at midnight without worries that it would throw off a diet balanced carefully to maintain what remained of her physical condition. She could almost taste the sauce, almost feel the cheese burn her tongue. She remembered stolen kisses, sweet and naïve. The dark secret longings manifested in tensing thighs and a wetness that, if it still came, no longer registered in her damaged nerves.

She examined those reactions, perhaps wishing there were jealousy. If there were, wouldn't that mean Barbara wanted more life? But instead, she was oddly hopeful. If Dick could find someone to want, to love, instead of herself, then perhaps they could get back to the friendship they'd had for so long. Perhaps she could talk to him more openly about the changes in her life, her needs.

Perhaps…. But that was a hope for later. Now, she could simply watch, and remember. She imagined herself in that room, newly changed from her Batgirl costume perhaps. She was, for that moment, the old Barbara again. Woman, not machine.

A buzzing shattered the illusions. Oracle identified the flickering light on the console immediately. A few keystrokes and the box analyzing the nightly backup routine appeared in the corner of her screen. The progress bar flickered while loading. That was trouble.

She ran a high-level system check and swore aloud. Someone had hacked the feed as it was shuttling into encryption. She studied the security analysis. Okay, they hadn't gotten much, thanks to the speed of her system's backup routine. But something. They'd gotten something. Barbara turned on the sound and traced the hack. "Hecate is also darkness..." There was the beginning. And the encryption finally outran the hacker's download speed at, "…But, Dick -- they said the answer lies in knowing them well."

Barbara was tempted to run the whole conversation to see if the information was truly dangerous. But, she had no idea what was happening in Dick's apartment at this moment. She opened another window to watch the live feed instead. His living room was dark and empty. That could be good. Or, the paranoid, Oracle part of her mind suggested, it could be very, very bad.

Barbara punched in the number to his secure line. He didn't answer. The signal continued to ring. "Come on," she coaxed. "Pick up."

-X-

I want you. I want you. "I want you." Donna tingles as she speaks the words aloud. Every breath, every cell of her body, hums with awareness -- of cotton sheets beneath her, of the warmth of Dick's body beside her.

"You have me." Dick's words purr against her neck at the precise spot where the whisper of breath makes her pulse jump. And her mind struggles to remember what it's like to think instead of feel.

In her memory, female voices laugh and speculate about him. So many after-mission parties, so many times he's been the object of lust. She's never wanted to be associated with all that. They trivialize and insult him. Anger burns hotter than her passion for an instant. They've no right. He's not their fantasy. He's real. So very real. And he's mine.

As quickly as they surge, the memories and speculations recede. They are overwhelmed by sensation. His lean, muscular body stretches alongside hers. His hands heat her, rouse her, pull her close until her breasts rub against his chest. The chill of the day still lingers in his bed sheets. His skin is so very warm by contrast. She never thought to be here. Skin to skin. With him. "Dear gods."

"Donna." Another breath against her neck, this one followed by the barest flick of his tongue along that same pulse point at her throat, and she nearly screams with satisfaction though he hasn't touched her most intimate places. Yet. He is methodical, as he is in so much of his life, about sharing pleasure.

They lie on their sides, facing each other, her left arm pinned beneath him so her fingers can only reach his hair. She strokes the nape of his neck while he licks her throat. The day's stubble on his chin scratches just a little along her collarbone. The sensations gather -- the tingling, the heat, a thousand tiny quiverings, all trickle down her body beneath her skin.

In the quarter light of street lamps diffused through his bedroom window, his eyes sparkle, and his gaze on her burns like his touch. Her lips ache when his gaze falls on them and she tilts her mouth toward him, almost begging for his kiss. She sees his smile, and then his head dips closer, out of the light.

Want me.

She's too eager, her mouth too open. He chuckles deep in his chest and eases his mouth over hers. The tightness beneath her sternum begins to relax. His kiss unbinds her. She doesn't recognize the knots -- uncertainty, restraint -- until they loosen within her. She feels his body moving against hers. So hard, all of him is so hard. She loves the feel of him. His hand trails shivers down her side, cups around her thigh, and brings her leg up to rest atop his hip.

She drags the nails of her free hand up his arm to his shoulder, scratching patterns as abstract as her thoughts. Please, Dick, want me. Never leave me. And then he's there, pressing against her, coaxing her open for him. She moans against his mouth and squeezes him as he slides inside.

"Yes." This time his voice is a growl. Beneath her fingers, his muscles tighten. She hooks her heel around his leg and pulls him deeper, seeking. Seeking. Seeking. She needs something she can't identify. He's here, filling her mind as well as her body. All her moments with him, all the laughter and the danger, all the joys and the sorrows, condense into this now that she never expected to have. It's everything, and yet she needs…

"Want me. Please." She doesn't recognize her own voice, low and throaty and demanding.

"How can you doubt?" His murmur teases at her mouth. "I want you, Donna. I've wanted you since we were kids."

Had he? Satisfaction wells within her, and her hands tighten on him with a desire she suddenly can't contain. "Show me."

He presses deeper into her. He feels so good, but she wants more, needs more. She needs his weight on her, his body pressing her into the mattress. She rolls onto her back, tugging his arm as she moves, urging him on top.

He lands with an awkwardness she's not accustomed to from him, and his pleasured moan breaks off into a strangled sound. He withers inside her.

His body was shaking now, not trembling with pleasure. She could feel the sweat rising on his skin where their bodies touched. "Dick -- what?"

"Shoulder." It seemed to be an effort for him to get the word out, and it took more effort for her to focus not on the word, but what it meant, and then on the actual body part in question. Her eyes widened. The odd angle of his shoulder stood out, a darker silhouette in the shadows of tangled sheets.

"Oh gods, Dick!" What had she done? "I'm so sorry."

"Just dislocated." Even now, he tried to sound casual. "It's happened before."

"What do I do? How do I fix it?" She was surprised at the calmness that settled around her, but then realized she shouldn't be. How many times had she looked to him for direction and followed those directions without question because she knew they were the right ones? She'd lost count, and she wouldn't break the habit now, not when he needed help.

With his good arm, he leveraged himself to a seated position, and she used her flight power to bring herself to a seated position without jarring the bed.

"Rotate my arm. Out, then up and behind my head. Slowly," he added. His voice was tight with pain now, not passion. She did as he said. "Bend the elbow, push it gently, yes, like that."

She touched him carefully, clinically now that desire had fled in the face of mortification. A tremor rippled through his arm as she adjusted his injured arm and pushed it sideways -- gently, very gently. She didn't want to hurt him more. She heard the soft pop, but more importantly, she saw his body relax just a little. Gingerly, he lowered his arm. Then he grinned at her. "You get to be on top this time."

"Are you out of your mind?" If he was, so was she, because longing stirred deep inside her when she looked at him. The feeling horrified rather than enticed her. She'd meant to barely tug his arm, and had ripped the joint loose. What if she truly lost herself? What if she let her nails dig into his skin as she sometimes fantasized? What if she shredded him as she occasionally had her sheets?

"It's not that bad, Donna." He gave a half-chuckle. The laugh made his stomach muscles twitch, which reminded her again how exposed they both were. "If you want the truth, I take it as a compliment."

When he reached a hand toward her face she had to pull away. She couldn't trust herself to let him touch her. His smile slipped and crashed into a frown.

"I can't," she said, almost desperately.

"Yes, you can." Was the desperation she heard in his voice an echo of her own? "I trust you, Donna. I always have."

"I don't trust myself." She had to get off the bed. Thankfully, her dress lay on the floor near her feet. She grabbed it, pulled the fabric over her head. When she turned back, he was seated on the edge, facing away from her. She assumed he was dealing with the condom he'd worn. The moment, even hidden from her view, was too intimate, too private. She still wanted him. Wanting nearly overran her good sense.

She had to remind herself of the truth. "I can't do this. I can't ever do this."

Even with one arm mostly useless, he moved quickly and gracefully, vaulting over the bed to land beside her. "Yes, you can," he repeated more firmly. "You have before, and you can again. Donna -- Donna, look at me."

Despite her natural speed, she didn't manage to dodge his hand when he grasped her chin and tilted it up so she was looking into his eyes, eyes that blazed now with determination instead of desire. "It's okay."

That determination made superheroes follow him, made women fantasize about him, made everyone paint him larger than life. Larger even than super-powered life. She'd always believed she was different, that she was more partner than follower and understood the man behind the mask. Only she didn't understand him in this moment. She didn't understand what would drive him to risk his life for the chance to simply touch. "I could have killed you. It's not okay."

"You wouldn't have." How could he sound so certain when she herself wasn't? "Donna -- please." The hand holding her chin slipped around to cup her cheek.

"I want to -- gods, I want to -- but I can't. Don't you understand?" It was hard not to lean into the heat of his hand. But she knew the heat would go from spark to bonfire if she did. "I can't."

"Please, Donna," he repeated. She shook her head and finally pulled free of his touch. He swallowed, adding, "Okay. We don't have to go back to bed. But don't go."

She took a shaky breath. "I have to. It would be too easy to -- it would be easy, and I can't take that risk. Not now."

He opened his mouth, and she knew he'd offer a good reason for her to stay. He'd won arguments with people far more stubborn than she could be in this moment, so she cut him off before he could begin. "Don't ask me to, Dick. If you care at all, please let me go."

His mouth settled into an expressionless line. She turned toward the front room and the door, sensed his steps close behind her. "I'm not that fragile, Donna."

"But I'm that dangerous, it seems."

"You're n--" He began, but she turned and pressed her fingers against his mouth, forestalling his protest.

"Don't. Just don't. Why can't you accept the truth?"

She watched a flame go cold in his eyes, felt lips slip from her touch as he stepped backward into the room. She felt as if she'd lost more than physical contact. A wall she'd seen him throw up to others, but never her, suddenly loomed in front of her. She watched him retrieve his jeans and tug them on. Then he crossed to the window that overlooked the alley behind his building, stared out.

Donna wanted to call him back, undo whatever she'd just done. But she couldn't. She knew where closeness would lead, and for his sake more than hers, she couldn't allow that to happen. Not ever again.

"I'm sorry." She whispered the words, knowing he wouldn't appreciate them. She ran from the room, barely taking time to grab her shoulder bag before rushing out the door.

-X-

Dick stood by the window, not really seeing even the darkness behind the glass. He heard the front door of his apartment close. At least she hadn't slammed it. He'd take even miniscule victories where he could get them. There were damn few in sight at the moment.

Why had he let things go so far? He hadn't meant to. The kiss just happened. One moment he had an arm around her shoulders in comfort. The next she looked up at him from beneath half-closed eyes. He gave her the briefest kiss, a friend's kiss like they'd shared so often, but tonight it was different. Tonight she'd smiled in a way that said she felt the same jolt he did and, wordlessly, they'd linked hands and moved into his bedroom. Maybe they should have talked first. Maybe talking would've prevented whatever it was that had just happened.

That he didn't know what to call their final words -- confrontation, argument, just words -- said a lot. Friendship with Donna was solid ground. Sex with Donna felt like quicksand. He didn't know how to read the situation. He hadn't worked out the clues in his head. He couldn't pinpoint the "what" in what had happened. And worse, his only other reference was a nightmare intended to drive him insane.

"Maybe I do need a house to fall on me," he muttered, remembering those cursed nightmares again. Had Donna somehow looked into those drug-dreams to see his secrets? The idea was absurd, of course. She hadn't even been in Bludhaven when Crane was working his sick tricks. But, she might as well have been. Tonight had been a replay.

Her real words -- why can't you accept the truth? -- had been less cruel than those of her dream counterpart, but they cut all the same. The truth. Dick took a deep, steadying breath, but he still didn't want to look. He didn't want to know the truth she saw in him, perhaps because he already suspected. Crane's nightmares had showed him those failings, and his aching shoulder reinforced the point.

He wasn't good enough for the woman he really wanted.

He released the breath and started for the kitchen. It was nearly three in the morning, but there was no way he'd sleep now. He was going to worry at this unwanted truth. He was going to pick it apart until he understood both why he wasn't good enough and how he could change that fact.

That would be a lot of work. He might as well make some coffee. Or reheat the coffee from this morning. Either one would do.

He didn't bother turning on the lights as he traced the familiar path from the bedroom through the living room and toward the kitchen on bare, silent feet. A crystalline glint caught his eye, and he focused on the coffee table in front of the couch.

The vial. She'd left the goddamned vial. He snatched it up, half-tempted to throw it out the nearest window. Had she meant to taunt him by leaving it?

He killed the thought soon as it was born. Donna was never intentionally cruel. She didn't know he'd been tortured by Crane's drugs. She certainly didn't know the details of the resulting nightmares. She'd just been so upset she forgot the vial.

He turned the glass tube in his hand as he crossed the last few feet to the kitchen counter. Here was one answer to not good enough, and an easy one at that. He stared at the vial, almost hypnotized by the light refracted through the glass and the sparkling liquid inside. One swallow, and 'not as good as' would never be an issue ever again. He hated the little voice inside that whispered, "Drink it. Just to show her."

The voice was seductive, insidious. He knew its tone from long years as the Batman's partner. It usually muttered, 'not good enough' and 'failure.' It was, he knew, the author of those cursed nightmares as much as or more so than Crane. It was the voice that drove him to risk more, to strive more. Crane had discovered, to his surprise and regret, how Dick responded to that voice. "If I'm not good enough now, I will make myself better."

But, not this way. He wouldn't betray Donna's trust for the easy road to 'better'. He couldn't. All his years of experience had taught him something else about the voice that told him he was inadequate. They'd taught him how to defy it.

Resolutely, he put the vial on the counter next to the coffee machine, pulled the pot half full still with the morning's coffee from the plate and dumped it back into the hopper. He'd call Donna and tell her the vial was safe, as soon as he had coffee.

A flicker of light from the pile of pocket debris on the counter caught his attention, and with his good arm, he reached over to grab his cell phone. The display told him he'd missed a call from Barbara -- no, he reminded himself, that number meant the Oracle had tried to call him. He'd been otherwise occupied with Donna at the time.

He pressed the send button, and when she answered, he said, "You rang?"

"You have got to make time to get that encryption equipment installed." She sounded angry, and scared. "Someone grabbed tonight's feed as it was going from temporary storage to encrypted permanent."

"What feed?"

"From your apartment."

"They heard what Donna and I were talking about."

"Part of it, yes. I don't know who they are, though. I tried to backtrack the hack, but they're good. I got nothing."

Dick's gut knotted. He'd let Donna down, again. How could he have forgotten to turn off the damn camera -- Wait. His gaze snapped toward the darkened living room. "Barbara, what are you staring at when you watch the feed?"

"Your counter, part of the living room from the other angle, the couch."

"The coffee table?" He stared at the pizza box, reading "Gino's All Night Delivery" in grease-soiled red ink.

"Yes, why?"

Pizza delivery, Donna had said his name, the video showed the box -- those facts clicked in a chain to a conclusion. "They know where I am. Gotta go."

"But, Dick --"

He closed the phone, shoved it into his jeans pocket, and looked around for his shoes. He hoped Gino had had the good sense to give up any and all information on the guy named Dick who always ordered double pepperoni and tipped with a twenty. He'd hate to think the old man got hurt trying to protect him.

His shoes were at the end of the counter, and he slipped into them just as he heard the faint sound of the lock in his front door turning. Too late to run. If their boss had half a brain he'd have someone outside the window with a rifle. It would have to be a fight. Dick hoped his shoulder was up to the effort.

Then his gaze landed on Donna's vial lying on the counter. They could be after that. Where to hide it? He grabbed the vial as the door lock gave way.

The last of the coffee was hissing its way into the pot. Day-old reprocessed coffee was dark enough to hide anything, and now it was hot enough that nobody would stick their hand in it. He pulled the pot out just enough to drop the vial into the liquid. Then, they were through the door.

He grabbed a frying pan from the stovetop, gave silent thanks that Alfred insisted the only pans worth having were cast iron, and came around the wall that partitioned the kitchen from the raised entryway. That small landing would be the best place to stop them. The space would be too tight for them to use their guns effectively, but Dick could still spin and move as long as he kept to the railing.

The two thugs had just burst through the door. There was no other word for them. Both were muscle men in leather and tattoos. Dick silently dubbed them Big and Bad, and timed his movements so he would meet them at the stairs.

They reached for guns, but hadn't time to draw before Dick started his attack.

He came at Big with a low swing to the gut. Cast iron might be great for cooking, and made a pretty good emergency shield, but he could too easily kill these men if he wasn't careful. Even as foul as his mood was now, he wouldn't murder.

The skillet blow doubled Big over. Dick redirected his movement, bringing the pan up so it lent weight to his arm. Then he drove his elbow down onto the back of Big's neck. Big collapsed with barely a grunt to acknowledge anything had happened.

Bad had finished drawing his gun when Dick twisted to face him. He brought the pan down to shield position before the pistol's muzzle flashed. His hand shook with the impact of the bullet, and the ricochet echoed in the apartment.

Still Dick didn't stop moving. A stationary target was a dead target. He lunged forward, over Big's prone form on the stairs, and swept the pan across his body into Bad's gun hand. Bone crunched as cast iron met fingers. Bad yelped in surprise and dropped the gun.

Dick smiled at the opening, and kicked Bad squarely in the chest. Bad staggered and, a moment later, lay as unconscious as his partner.

Dick stared at the pile of thugs on his stairs. It hurt just thinking about dragging them out to the hallway. Even though he hadn't used it directly, his injured shoulder ached from the exertion of the fight. Downside of the muscular system; everything was attached. "Not that these guys offered much of a fight," he muttered as he traced his way back to the kitchen for zip ties. "Man, am I going to be in pain when I go against Blockbuster."

That the thugs belonged to Bludhaven's new crime lord Dick couldn't doubt. They had the right look -- street toughs given too much time and money for the gym and tattoo parlors while they awaited the new boss' orders. Besides, Minh's boys would have showed up with full auto. Blockbuster seemed to like old school. Nine millimeters, and 357s topped his preferences.

Dick had to kick Big in the skull once to keep him out, but he managed to pull both men out of his apartment, and secure them to the railing in the hall. Then he went back inside and tried to call Donna.

He didn't know whether he was relieved or not when Donna didn't answer. He hated that she was probably angry at him, hated that he was happy not to be discussing things with her while he still felt raw. Other problems absorbed his mind as he closed his cell phone. When these guys didn't report in, Blockbuster would send more and better. That was assuming Big and Bad weren't merely a first volley. More could be on their way right now. Dick had to get out of his apartment fast.

His gaze landed on the coffeemaker. He needed to retrieve the vial and go. The less time wasted, the better. He shut off the machine and pulled a pair of tongs from the canister beside the stove to retrieve the vial. As the glass tube surfaced on the dark liquid, he froze. The top was sealed with wax.

Had it leaked? What was he going to tell Donna if it had?


	3. Chapter 3

We still don't own anything used in this story, more's the pity.

-X- -X- -X- -X- -X-

"Have I lost my best friend?" Donna flew east above the city toward the ocean. He'd tried to call her once already. She knew it was Dick because the phone in her bag played the chorus of "Win" by Brian McKnight, but she hadn't wanted to talk to him when she was flying, and didn't want to land. And really, she didn't want to hear him say he was sorry in that tone that said goodbye.

He hadn't closed down after she injured him. He'd been willing to jest about that part, much to her horror. No, it had been something she'd said later when she wasn't really listening to her own words that caused him to shut her out.

Below her, Dick's city was a maze of river, sea, and ugly, dirty buildings. If she were sane she'd want away from the cesspool as fast as possible. But, the city seemed to hold her. She worried that if she flew too fast or too far the tenuous thread between herself and Dick would snap forever.

Donna chose an outcropping of rock out in the bay just southeast of Bludhaven. A weedy park hugged the nearby shoreline, but if anyone played there in the daylight hours, they clearly avoided the place at night. The park was dark and deserted, the rocks beyond its shore lonely. Still, she landed lightly on one of the boulders and sat clutching her knees to her chest, trying to imagine life without her best friend.

Why, after so many years, had she failed to keep up her guard around him? Why had they, now of all times, wound up in bed?

He'd been offering support and comfort when he wrapped his arm around her. She'd been thinking about the vial and choosing a man to spend forever with when she rested her head against his shoulder. The moment reminded her of when he hugged her right before walking her down the aisle to marry Terry. Then she'd been thinking she was giving up any chance to touch Dick as more than a friend. Tonight she'd been thinking this would be her last chance and she didn't want to pass it up again. So, when Dick kissed her, she didn't fight the desire that sparked inside her.

The heat had been lightning hot, a white flash all the way through her body. They both felt the jolt. His body shivered with it as much as hers did. And, as she'd always feared it would, touching him had caused her to lose him entirely.

She couldn't face the emptiness that thought brought her. She'd been friends with Dick longer than anyone. Life without him looked so lonely. It was ironic that the ambrosia, that thing that was supposed to prevent her eternal loneliness, had ruined her longest and best relationship.

Except it wasn't the ambrosia, she reminded herself. If she were brutally honest, she had to accept that she had destroyed her friendship with Dick. She shouldn't be surprised, either. Look how her other relationships had turned out.

Only… she'd never done that, had she? She'd never honestly looked at her relationships to see what had happened and, perhaps, why they turned out as they did. There had to be some common thread to those disasters. If she found it, she might figure out how to salvage her friendship with Dick.

That, she realized, was an uncharacteristically methodical thought for her. It must be her focus on Dick and his approach to problems. He'd be methodical, and probably quote the Cheshire Cat. So she'd begin at the beginning, and the beginning was Roy Harper.

Roy had been the best introduction to the ways of sex any woman could've had. As a girl newly arrived from an exclusively female island Donna had appreciated that. She and Roy were lovers who stayed friends, a successful relationship in its way. The only affair she could call a success, really. But, that was because things had never been serious with Roy. Neither of them ever wanted more than friendship and pleasure.

Terry was different. Terry had been serious. An older man, he'd allowed, even encouraged, her to be the girl she could seldom allow herself to be among the Titans. She'd felt such relief when with him. Being the Amazon, the Titan, the superhero all demanded so much. She'd had no place to just be. Terry made her believe he wanted just Donna the woman. Only, in the end, that wasn't what he wanted at all.

Donna felt her fists clench when she thought about how it had all ended. The marriage, and later his life. He'd taken her son twice, first when he'd won sole custody in their divorce, and then with him into death. He'd taken her anger too, when he died, because how could she be angry when she was grieving?

But she was angry, and she could admit it for the first time, here at the outskirts of what was arguably the angriest city on Earth. She was angry that he'd taken her youth, her trust, and twisted them for his own purposes. Perhaps he'd felt intimidated by her, as if he were inferior. Perhaps if she'd had the vial even two months ago, Terry would still be alive and, enhanced, they could solve the issues of their marriage.

"No." She nearly shouted the rejection to the dark ocean. Her joys with Terry had been fleeting, her pain from his selfishness long and hard. And it had been selfishness on his part, she could admit that now. She never knew everything he really wanted from her, but certainly part was his desire to tap her knowledge of the gods to advance his own career, and the boost his ego got from being married to a young Amazon woman. Whatever else he desired, she hadn't been able to give it to him. And when she failed him, he turned on her. He took everything she cared about.

Even if he were alive she'd never give Terry the ambrosia. She'd given so much to him. She didn't owe him the gift intended to bring her future happiness as well.

Regret flashed briefly through her mind that Bobby died before she received the vial, but that choice would have been as wrong as offering the gift to Terry. Donna would gladly have given her own life, immortal or not, to save her child. However, the gods had made clear the vial was for her life partner, not her son. To choose the wrong person would be a disaster, Diana had impressed that fact upon her. Painful as it would have been were he alive, the gift could never have belonged to Bobby.

Besides, she was getting off track. She was supposed to be analyzing her relationships for the cause of failure. So far, however, she'd found nothing of any use. She and Roy had merely had fun together, but they had parted as friends. With Terry she'd allowed herself to fall in love. The divergent endings of those two relationships stood out as sharply as the orange streaks blazing dawn across the purple eastern sky.

She was no closer to understanding where she'd failed before, or with Dick tonight. Nor, she had to accept, was she nearer to figuring out what she wanted in a relationship. She had no more idea what to do with the vial now than she had when she arrived in Bludhaven.

Maybe Dick was wrong. Maybe love wasn't the answer.

Oddly, that thought made her think of Kyle.

He hadn't loved her. He'd loved the idea of her, of being with her, but he hadn't loved her. Why hadn't he loved her?

Donna cast her thoughts back over that relationship, brief as it had been. With the clarity and distance of hindsight, she searched for the cause of failure.

She'd had fun with Kyle. From a ride in a horse and carriage generated by his power ring to a picnic on Mars -- she'd had fun. With shame, she saw that Kyle had created most of that fun. She'd been such a wet blanket with him. She'd nagged him constantly about responsibility. Frankly, she'd treated him the way Terry had treated her. Perhaps she'd been trying too hard to shed the naïve girl who couldn't please her husband. Whatever her reasons, she'd made Kyle feel constrained and manipulated, much as she felt in her marriage.

She'd been to blame for their breakup. If she'd just let her fun side out to play, as she had with Roy, things would have been better.

"Win" broke the silence again. Resolutely, Donna ignored the phone in her bag. She'd begun this examination because she was afraid she'd lose her friendship with Dick, but the fact he continued to call suggested that fear had been unfounded. He still wanted contact. She hadn't lost him at all. When she called him back, they would talk, probably laugh about how stupid they'd both been, and move on. As they always did. She should have just trusted Dick not to abandon her.

She pulled out the phone after it had stopped ringing, almost called up his number. Then, she paused. Now wasn't the time. Her thoughts had taken her to Kyle, and possibly to the solution to her problem with the ambrosia.

He was the man Diana assumed she would choose as recipient. And Diana was, or had been, goddess of Truth. And, if Donna's own stodginess were the cause of their breakup, that was easily repaired. Wasn't it?

She scrolled through the phone's directory to K. This was good. This was a step toward an answer. Even if she never mentioned the vial to him, she should mend the break with Kyle. They hadn't really spoken since that horrible day in his apartment, and she hated leaving that wound unbandaged.

The phone was already ringing when she realized she was calling at an insanely early hour, especially for people in the super-heroing business.

"Mmf. Donna?" He sounded drowsy. "Is the world exploding?"

"No."

"Then why're you calling me at --" she heard a rustle -- "four thirty a.m.?"

"It's important." That sounded lame to her own ears. Try again, Donna, and remember not to be stodgy. "I forgot it was so early, Kyle. I'm sorry. I'll call back."

"No." He almost shouted into the phone. "I don't mean to be a grouch. I was just asleep. If it's important, I can meet you. Give me an hour, no half, to shower?"

"All right." She agreed to his suggested place and time.

Her scalp tingled a little as she closed her phone. After all the hurt it felt good to hope.

-X-

Dick had seen many expressions on Alfred Pennyworth's face over the years. The one that he knew best was the one he saw now as Alfred opened the door to Wayne Manor: nonplussed bemusement.

"Yes, I know, I forgot my keys," Dick said. He'd rushed from his apartment with barely a shout to his landlady, Clancy, to call the police, and then driven to Gotham. "Nothing to worry about, Alfred."

"I am merely disappointed." Alfred stepped aside to let Dick enter. "I thought you liked my coffee, Master Dick."

"Of course I like your coffee, Alfred." Where had that come from?

"That --" Alfred raised one elegant eyebrow in the direction of his left hand -- "is not my coffee."

"Strictly speaking, Alfred, I'm not sure it's coffee." Dick held the carafe gently so as not to spill any of the contents. It might well be a bitter concoction capable of giving a person immortality and super powers. And wouldn't that be fun to explain if Bruce was around?

"Ah, good. If it were coffee, I would be compelled to ask why it's not in a Thermos."

Dick chuckled politely at Alfred's humor and crossed the front hall. As always, it echoed with his footsteps. "I'm just going to take my non-coffee downstairs."

"I shall bring you some of the genuine article, sir." There was the briefest hesitation in Alfred's voice as they reached the downstairs library. "Do you also require a shirt?"

Dick glanced down at his bare torso. He'd avoided pulling on another shirt before he left to save his sore shoulder the twisting. Alfred had to have noticed the spreading bruise, but that didn't mean Dick cared to explain it. "I was in a rush when I left home. It's not an emergency." He crossed the room to the concealed entrance to the Batcave. "Is he down there?"

"I believe he is still resting from his evening's adventures. But he has an early meeting this morning, so he should be awake soon."

"Thanks." Dick hoped that was a Bruce-version of 'soon' rather than an Alfred-version of 'soon.' He really didn't want to explain the reason for his visit any more than his injury.

He switched on the working lights in the cave as soon as the elevator came to a stop. To his right banks of computers, and other technical apparatuses, whirred and hummed efficiently. Ahead of him the Batmobile and Bat-cycles rested quiet in their bays. To the left he could see just the corners of the gym and equipment storage areas. He knew every crevice and cranny as well as he knew his own name and better than he knew the maze of rooms upstairs.

As always, the cave was cool and damp and strangely welcoming in ways the mansion upstairs never managed. Upstairs was "the manor," formal and proper, befitting Gotham's wealthiest citizen and his ward and heir. This cavern had always been their true home.

Dick shook off the bout of nostalgia. He had possibly-blessed coffee and an asbestos sample to test.

One of the many benefits of the Wayne fortune was that it allowed Bruce -- and by extension Dick -- access to bleeding edge technology. Prototypes of various machines borrowed from WayneTech were lined up along the wall of the cave beyond the computer bank, some large enough to be free-standing, others resting on a long table. At the moment, Dick was interested solely in the broad reaction monitoring liquid-to-gas chromatograph-spectrometer. He'd have to run the tests in sequence, but the machine should be able to answer the questions he had.

Most important among those questions was, had the vial leaked ambrosia into his day-old coffee?

He used a pipette to draw liquid from the carafe. Then he inserted the sample in the machine. And then he had nothing to do but wait. Dick leaned back in a chair and propped his feet on the table where the spectrometer rested. Much like a character in one of his favorite movies, Dick hated waiting for anything. So, he used the dead time to mentally shift around what clues he possessed.

For once he knew who he was looking for. He'd known for a month that Benny disappeared on Blockbuster's orders. The goons who broke into Dick's apartment tonight sure looked like they belonged to the same man. So the real question was, did the fact that both events led back to Blockbuster mean the attack and Benny were connected?

Dick couldn't imagine why or how. The object of the attack had been Donna's ambrosia, that much was obvious. And Benny had been paying off his gambling debt digging asbestos in a mine. Maybe it was a coincidence that Blockbuster had been involved in both. Then again, Bruce had taught him not to believe in the tooth fairy or coincidence.

The sound of the elevator heralded Alfred's arrival. "Your coffee, sir."

"Thanks." He took the cup. The butler's coffee might not help anyone fly, but the warmth and flavor eased some of Dick's tension and helped him think. "Alfred, do you know anything about the old Kreder mine up in the 'Haven?"

Alfred placed a neatly-folded shirt on the table near Dick's feet. "The Waynes were never in the habit of associating with people like Johann Kreder."

"What do you know about him?" The mine had to be important, even if it had no connection to the attempted theft of Donna's vial. Blockbuster was willing to forgive Benny a four grand debt, not including interest, for a month's work there.

"He was an ex-Nazi, probably a principal in Bludhaven's then-fledgling organized crime, a most unpleasant man." Alfred managed to convey his well-bred disgust by inflection alone. "The Kreder mine was the last of Bludhaven's enterprises to shut down when asbestos proved deadly. In addition, Johann Kreder was rumored to have developed an interest in the occult during his work for the Nazis that never waned."

"So, we've got magic, crime, and poison to choose from," Dick mused more to himself than Alfred. Sometimes having too much to work with was worse than too little. He needed to narrow things down a bit. "Any particular branch of the occult?"

Alfred paused, his expression thoughtful. "You do tax an old man's memory, Master Dick. But I believe it had to do with ancient religions, the original forms not the modern-day recreations."

"The real thing." That sounded uncomfortably like a connection to Donna's vial. Tenuous, perhaps, but still a connection. One he'd have to explore, no matter how much it hurt.

"If I'd known you were coming, I'd've waited up."

Dick glanced over his shoulder at a bathrobe-clad Bruce, who had somehow managed to make the elevator operate silently. "If I'd known I was coming, I'd've worn a shirt."

"Problems in Bludhaven? And is that coffee?"

"Yes and no. In that order."

Bruce paused with his hand near the pot Dick had brought from Bludhaven. "What is it?"

"Not drinkable." The last thing he needed was for Bruce to drink the coffee if it were tainted. Donna would never forgive him. "I'm running it through analysis right now."

"We've analyzed stranger things," Bruce said. He put both hands in the pockets of his robe, apparently no longer interested in tasting the contents of the carafe. Dick released a held breath. "Why are you analyzing coffee?"

"I've also got asbestos from the Kreder mine to look at. Roland Desmond is up to something that involves the mine."

Bruce had wandered over to the spectrometer to watch the machine's progress. "Any ideas what?"

"Not yet." Dick had to decide how much to tell Bruce. No doubt his skills would be an asset, but Donna had been uncomfortable with Bruce holding and, he had to assume, knowing too much about the ambrosia. Dick didn't want to betray her trust. Further, he could see the reason for her concern. How would Bruce's paranoia explode if he knew a vial full of super-potion was floating around? "Desmond also attacked my apartment earlier, which is why I'm here so abruptly."

"You mess up your shoulder in the fight?"

Dick glanced down at his shoulder -- his swollen, purpling shoulder. "It didn't happen in the fight. I handled them with a frying pan."

"Cast iron?" Alfred asked.

Dick grinned at him. "Only kind worth having. The ten inch saved my life."

"But the coffee needed to be analyzed." Bruce had pulled up the finished report and studied it frowning. "Really bad coffee."

"You taught me to make it." Dick looked at the report and exhaled, relieved. It was, in fact, coffee with no added benefits.

"What did you think it was poisoned with? Do you think Desmond treated it? Is your identity compromised?"

"I'm not sure what to call it. No. And no, I don't think Desmond knows Dick Grayson is Nightwing. If he even suspected, he would have sent more than two third-rate goons to take me out."

"Two third-rate goons who didn't injure you."

"Right."

He watched the subtle shift in Bruce's shoulders that meant his mentor and surrogate father had relaxed. "Why do you have asbestos from the Kreder mine?"

Briefly, Dick summarized Benny's story while he inserted the asbestos sample into the spectrometer. "Desmond is looking for something there."

That was a leap of logic Dick had to review after he said it. Benny had suggested that in their conversation, but there was no other evidence for it. Still, in his gut, Dick knew he was right.

"What's he looking for?" Bruce asked. "Assuming it's not bad coffee."

"Not coffee. Truthfully, it's just a hunch I'm working on. I could be completely wrong. Benny thought Desmond might be planning to poison the mayor."

"Too insignificant a target. That's not Desmond's style." Bruce paused. "Though if you mixed asbestos with that coffee, you might get something really potent."

"There might be other things he could mix the asbestos with." Dick frowned.

"Approach it from a different angle. If he wasn't after Nightwing, why did Blockbuster break into Dick Grayson's apartment?"

"Yeah. Well." Dick paused. He'd have to explain that carefully. "Donna came by to ask me about a problem she has, and while we were talking, Desmond managed to hack into Barbara's temporary storage. He grabbed the video feed from my apartment just before it was encrypted."

"Don't you have the encryption equipment on site?" There was no censure in Bruce's tone, but there didn't have to be. Dick was familiar with Bruce's nuances of expression and inflection. This question, bland as it was, reminded Dick of a different part of Crane's nightmares, a part having nothing to do with failing Donna as a husband and everything to do with not living up to Bruce's example.

"Not yet," Dick answered. To Bruce's look, he added somewhat defensively, "The chances of anyone getting anything interesting are beyond microscopic to quantum small. Most of the feed is of me eating cereal or watching the news."

"Except for tonight." Bruce's inflection didn't change, but Dick took it for the rebuke it was. "How does Donna's problem interest Blockbuster?"

"Wrong angle." Dick smiled at the opportunity to throw Bruce's words back at him. It didn't happen often. "There's no reason for Desmond to be looking at a nobody's apartment. And Dick Grayson is a nobody in Bludhaven. I'm a bartender there. No, Desmond was after something from Barbara -- from Oracle. If we can figure out what that is, we can figure out why Donna's problem interests him."

"Why don't you want to tell me about Donna's problem?"

"Because it's none of your business." Dick knew Bruce wasn't trying to take over the case. Bruce didn't want to take over anything in his life. He'd resolved those issues when he worked through Crane's nightmares. Bruce just wanted to help, but in this case, Dick couldn't let him.

"It's part of the case now." That wasn't Bruce talking anymore. The set of his jaw meant Batman had taken over.

"We need to call Barbara to see if she can shed more light on the situation." In some things, especially where people he cared about were concerned, Dick could out-stubborn even the Bat. He rose and turned toward the computer. He heard Bruce's intake of breath, as though his mentor were going to continue the argument. Surprisingly, Bruce stayed quiet as Dick opened the connection to Barbara.

"Late even for you, isn't it, B?" Barbara's face appeared on the screen as she was rubbing one eye. A moment later, she slid her glasses into place and blinked at him. Her eyes widened. "Oh, hi, Dick."

He probably should have taken the time to put on the shirt Alfred had brought him, Dick thought, but now he wouldn't bother. "We're trying to track down what Desmond might've been looking for when he got the feed from my apartment."

Barbara's image on the screen looked past him to where Bruce stood. "Did you tell him to get that encryption equipment installed?"

"You did, he did, I'll do it, all right?" Dick let some of the frustration bleed over into his voice. The lack of encryption equipment was less important than figuring out Blockbuster's plans. In the back of his brain a voice nagged him to think about Donna's problem too, but he wouldn't here, or now, and not just because Donna didn't want Bruce to know about the vial. He didn't want the others to see his feelings on that topic.

"Do you have any idea why Desmond is interested in the old Kreder mine?" Bruce asked.

She put on her thinking scowl as she punched commands into her computers. "Only thing down there is asbestos and … hello, urban legends."

"Might as well have urban legends to go with the others," Dick muttered. "Which ones in this case?"

"Kreder was a Nazi," Barbara began.

Dick nodded. "Right, involved with the occult."

"An artifact hunter, to be exact," Barbara said. "Mostly undistinguished, except for his last expedition to the island of Delos."

A map of the island replaced her image on the screen, along with photographs of large, white stone lions backed by a brilliant Aegean sky. Barbara's voice continued, "He disappeared after that expedition, and rumor has it that he brought back some kind of super-weapon."

"That the Nazis never got a chance to use," Bruce said.

"Apparently he wasn't interested in turning his finds over." Barbara cleared her throat and continued, "He managed to arrive in Bludhaven in style, however. He transported a vast collection of Greek artifacts to his new home. The Greek government has been in court for decades trying to force the estate to return them."

"He has heirs, then?" Bruce sounded interested, and Dick knew his mentor was ranging through his memory for any mention of Kreder heirs.

Barbara shook her head. "No family. In an odd bit of philanthropy, Kreder left his collection to the Bludhaven Museum of World History. They sold some of the lesser pieces to fund a special wing to house the bulk of the collection. The museum and Kreder's attorney are defending the suit. All indications are that the attorney is dirty, but careful."

"But, there's a good chance that collection included this super-weapon when Kreder was alive," Dick finished.

"Probably," Barbara cautioned. The map on the screen dissolved back into her face. "We know that he had some special way of dealing with people who opposed his criminal activities. In securing his position as Bludhaven's first proto-crime lord, he could have used this weapon."

"Do we know where that weapon is now?" Bruce asked.

"No." Barbara sounded glum. "There's nothing about it since he died. I did find inventories of his estate from the museum, and the records of the various sales. We can --"

"Kreder wouldn't sell something like that," Dick cut her off. "He wouldn't put it in a museum either. He wouldn't even want to chance it falling into the wrong hands while he was still alive."

"Then what did he do with it?" Barbara demanded.

"That's what we need to figure out." Dick stood and paced the area behind the computer chair. He'd only taken three steps when he stopped and looked at Bruce. "He dumped it in the mine."

"Of course," Bruce said. "Once the mine was closed, and deemed deadly in the process, there was no reason for anyone ever to go inside it. Kreder probably saw it as the best hiding place available."

"That's pretty thin," Barbara said. "For all we know, he could've shipped it somewhere else."

"To whom?" Dick asked. "Kreder had no children, right? Who else would you trust with a super-weapon?"

"Sirs." Alfred's voice held a note of tension Dick wasn't used to hearing. "I am by no means a chemist, but this report seems rather strange."

"What do you mean?" Bruce asked.

"This does indeed look like asbestos," Alfred said. "Except the sample seems to have sodium and iron where I expect magnesium."

"Let me see that." Bruce snatched the report from Alfred's hands and studied it. "That's the compound for blue asbestos."

"Blue?" Dick repeated. "But I thought American asbestos is white. Blue asbestos comes from Africa and Australia."

"And is a stronger carcinogen." Bruce looked up at him, his expression grim. "Is there any of the sample left?"

"Should be." Dick picked up the plastic bag he'd used to contain the sample. "A little."

"Let's get that under the microscope."

Dick loaded a slide and adjusted the eyepiece. What he saw looked darker than he had expected, even knowing this was blue asbestos instead of white. The fibers were brittle. They'd shattered into tiny fragments though he'd handled the sample as gently as he could.

"That look as bad to you as it does to me, Bruce?" He stepped back to allow Bruce to study the sample as well.

"We know that the sodium-iron molecule is more deadly than what we normally mine here in the States," Bruce said, his eyes still glued to the microscope. "These particles are finer than any I've ever seen. And --"

"And what?" Dick wished he could take the microscope back and see whatever had surprised Bruce into silence.

"But the Kreder mine contained the common white variety, guys," Barbara interrupted. "Are you sure that sample's from there?"

"I got it off Benny's shirt," Dick told her absently, still wondering at whatever Bruce was studying so intently. "He was in the mine. Stands to reason this sample is from there."

"It's moving," Bruce said suddenly.

"It's what?"

"Moving." Bruce straightened, his expression even grimmer than usual.

Dick grabbed the microscope and focused on the sample. Most people would miss the infinitesimal movement. But, the fibers did twitch. "I need to go visit that mine."

Bruce nodded agreement. "Want some company?"

Dick opened his mouth to answer, and instead of a response, a yawn came out. He stifled the reflex. He had no time for sleep, so he'd have to wake himself up. "No, thanks. Thanks for your help, Babs."

"Anytime," she replied with a smile. "Just get that encryption equipment installed, will you?"

Dick groaned as she cut the connection.

"One thing," Bruce said.

"What's that?"

"What does that sorry excuse for coffee have to do with this?"

Dick froze in place. He'd forgotten the vial in the labyrinth of clues surrounding Desmond and Kreder's mine. Instinctively, his hand went to the front pocket of his jeans where he'd tucked the thing after fishing it out of the coffee. His phone rested in the same pocket.

"I'm an idiot," he announced. Bruce didn't disagree, just looked at him with a question in his eyes. "Donna," Dick explained.

"What about her?" Bruce asked. For once, he was a half-step behind Dick instead of the other way around.

"Desmond knows I'm not a pushover now. He's probably guessed that Donna won't be, either." Dick pulled out his phone and punched Donna's number one more time. Her phone rang a half dozen times. She had super powers. She could handle herself in a fight. Still, he imagined the dozen ways that she might have been caught unaware, overpowered, even killed. His body tightened at the thought, as though it were a blow, and his mind screamed that he couldn't allow that to have happened.

When he allowed himself to look at Bruce again, he doubted he'd hidden any of his reactions. "She's still not answering. I thought she wasn't answering because -- well, that doesn't matter. But what if something's already happened to her?"

He turned toward the alcove where extra costumes and weapons were kept. Even though he was now based in Bludhaven, spares were always ready here.

"Why isn't she talking to you? You've always been great friends."

Of all the questions Bruce could ask, he had to ask one that ranked just behind "What's Donna's problem about?" on the list of questions Dick really did not want to answer. He fumbled for something that might make sense.

"Well, we --" he paused. "It's complicated."

"You slept with her." Bruce sounded certain.

"Sort of," Dick hedged. Bruce's eyebrow lifted, and Dick said, "That's why it's complicated. But I have to find her."

"Not if she's not talking to you. And especially not if she's what happened to your arm." Bruce put a hand on his good shoulder. "I'll find her."

Dick started to protest that it wasn't Bruce's problem, but Bruce overrode him. "If she doesn't want to talk to you on the phone, she really doesn't want to talk to you in person. I'll find her."

Dick let out a breath. He hated to admit it, "But you're right, you should track her down. I'll go on to the mine and see what I can find out there."

He turned toward the closet alcove again. "Now all I need is a hazmat suit. You have one I can use?"

"Only if you want it in black."


	4. Chapter 4

No, we still don't own them. We do hope they're enjoying this adventure, though.

-X- -X- -X- -X- -X-

Kyle was waiting for her when Donna arrived at the Statue of Liberty. He'd chosen a spot on Lady Liberty's torch and apparently used his power ring to clean the surface. The ring also generated a small bistro table and chairs. On the table rested bagels, cream cheese, lox, and coffee, all very real.

"It's not Mars," he said, "but it's the best I could do at short notice."

"It's amazing, Kyle." Donna landed lightly and looked out over New York Bay toward Manhattan. The city shimmered in the early morning light. "Beautiful."

"We're the first to see this view in almost a century." Kyle turned and gestured toward the gold-plated flame above them. In that moment his profile reminded her of Dick, or maybe it was the grace of his movement. How had she never noticed that before? "Well, outside the maintenance workers who change the light bulbs. The last tours up to the torch were in 1917, I think."

He was trying to be so grown up with that speech -- probably, Donna thought, in response to the things she'd said to him when they'd broken up. Donna shoved the comparison to Dick out of her mind, instead focused on the features that were uniquely Kyle, his caramel brown eyes and loose, easy smile. In the doing, she remembered why she'd been attracted to him. She'd liked his sense of humor, his intelligence. She still did.

They hadn't been apart long, but Kyle had changed, Donna realized. A few more months of experience with his power, with the Justice League, even with the Titans, had tempered him. The new maturity added to his appeal.

"You said it was important, but the world isn't exploding," he said. "I figured we could eat while we talk."

Talk. Right. They had to talk now. Donna found herself afraid to begin. She certainly wasn't going to start with the ambrosia. She had to work up to that. So, she began with, "I've missed you, Kyle."

Kyle pulled out a ring-generated chair for her. His expression reflected his caution though he did look pleased. "I tried to call."

Just like Dick had been trying to call this morning. Why did she keep thinking of Dick? Donna frowned, then quickly pulled her lips into a smile. She didn't want Kyle to think she was disapproving. She was here to show him a different, more relaxed, Donna. From her bag, she withdrew a split of champagne, a small bottle of orange juice, and two plastic cups. "I wasn't ready to listen before."

"A lot of what I said then wasn't worth listening to." Kyle sat opposite her. "I like to think what I have to say now is."

She poured mimosas for both of them and encouraged him to continue. This was good. He could talk while she figured out how to tell him about immortality.

"So, I know I acted immature at times. I've got a lot of explanations for that flaw," he added with a chuckle. "I was still learning how this super-hero gig worked. I was still getting over Alex, honestly. I hadn't completely moved on." He sobered. "But, none of those are good reasons for making you feel like you had to be my mother. And I know I'm at least partly responsible for you feeling that you did."

"Part of that was me overcompensating, too. I'd allowed myself to be carefree and girlish with my husband, and he turned that against me. I was trying too hard to be a grown up with you." This was easier than she'd expected it to be. Donna felt herself relaxing into the conversation. She took a sip of her mimosa and savored it.

"Yeah, well, I was still a jerk. And, I'm sorry for that." Kyle spread cream cheese on a bagel. He might say things worth listening to, but that didn't mean he was entirely comfortable saying them. She understood that feeling all too well. "You were my first friend in New York, Donna. After you left, I felt lost. I'd think of all these great things to create with my ring, just for fun, and there was no one to share them with."

Creativity really was Kyle's life, Donna realized. That made her think of the master smith, Hephaestus. Whatever blessing he'd given the ambrosia, surely it would be best placed in the hands of someone who reveled in art. And not just art, she reminded herself. Kyle's ring could create anything he could envision. On how many occasions had that ability crafted exactly what was needed to win a fight?

"I missed that, too," Donna said quietly. Then, because she felt she needed to say it, "I'm sorry I was such a -- well, such an overbearing bitch."

"I'm debating being a gentleman by saying you were never a bitch and being a gentleman by not disagreeing with you. So I'll just say, take your pick." He grinned at her. "I'm really glad you called, Donna. But you said you had important things to talk about, too."

And there it was, the opportunity that she'd been waiting for, the moment to tell him about the gift the gods had given her. But somehow she still couldn't quite bring herself to say the words. She borrowed a tactic from him and smeared cream cheese on a bagel.

It was so hard to be sure. So far she'd only identified one way in which the ambrosia might bless Kyle. Certainly, he'd appreciate speed and flight, and she couldn't deny that Aphrodite had blessed him. But what about the others?

It wasn't just Hephaestus who governed creativity, she realized. All of the gods who'd given as-yet-unknown gifts did. Apollo governed music and other arts. The moon of Hecate inspired lovers and poets alike. And Poseidon's oceans were long used as a metaphor for the deep wells of creativity that resided within artists such as Kyle. Zeus' words to Diana rang through her -- if she understood and honored the gods, she would choose well. Every god chosen pointed to art, pointed to Kyle.

This had to be the right answer.

So, why didn't her heart lift in relief and joy? Why did she have a sense of foreboding? Had she somehow misread the situation? Donna forced herself to consider Dick's criteria as well as her own analysis. Dick had asked who would be good for her. Her mind refused to answer, but she could see no reason why Kyle would ever intentionally hurt her, or why he wouldn't remain a good companion for all time.

"Donna?"

Kyle's gentle prompt stirred her from her thoughts. She took a bite of bagel, then a sip of her mimosa, and then looked up at him.

"I just had to think how to say it." She leaned forward, rested her forearms on the table and decided to go for broke. "What would you say if I offered you the chance to live forever?"

"I remember this myth," Kyle grinned. "I'm supposed to say, 'add eternal youth and I'm in', right?"

He didn't realize she was serious. She kept her gaze even, allowed a small smile to lift her lips. "You don't have to stipulate. Eternal youth is part of the package."

"Oh." She watched understanding widen his eyes and part his lips, watched the rise and fall of his chest quicken.

"Well?" Now it was asked, she found herself wishing he would answer quickly. She wanted the thing over and done, just to have the burden lifted from her.

He swallowed. "Ummm, I'd have to be nuts to say I'd rather grow old and die. But, why me?"

"You're the right choice, Kyle." The only choice.

Her phone rang again, not the mellow tones of Brian McKnight that had marked each of Dick's calls, but a shrill alarm.

Kyle recognized it. "That sounds like a Justice League alert."

"Did you turn your phone off?" Donna asked, even as she reached for hers. "I mean, why would they call me?"

Kyle checked his. "Mine's fine. And yes, it's on."

"Weird. Maybe it's Diana?" There'd be no numeric display on this call. She had no choice but to answer it. "Yes?"

"Troia? Are you all right?"

She knew that voice, and it was the last one she'd expect to hear on the line. Dick had gotten Bruce to call in his place. She let her irritation show in her voice and, presumably, on her face, given Kyle's frown at her. "I'm fine. Why wouldn't I be?"

"Your conversation with Nightwing earlier was tapped." Batman's voice was cold, clipped, impersonal, as always. "Roland Desmond, Blockbuster, overheard part of it."

She acknowledged Batman's message and concluded the call without really paying attention to what she said or how he answered. Her mind flashed to questions of how much had been taped, by whom. She felt her face redden, before forcing her thoughts to what was said rather than what was speculated. The overheard conversation was probably about the vial. That's what Dick wanted to warn her about.

As villains stacked up, Blockbuster wasn't terrifying, but that didn't mean Donna could afford to ignore the threat he posed. The man was determined, vicious, and possessed super-strength. It wasn't impossible to think he could overpower her and take the vial for himself.

The timing of her decision couldn't have been more advantageous.

"Exploding planet after all?" Kyle asked.

"Not quite." She explained the call as she dropped the phone back in her bag, concluding with, "So, it would be best if I just gave you the ambrosia right away. Once you've taken it, the threat from Desmond is removed."

"Okay."

She reached back into her bag for the vial, only to frown when her hand didn't touch it. Maybe it had fallen to the bottom, beneath her civilian clothes. She pulled the bag into her lap and opened it wide.

A thorough, furious search later, the vial remained stubbornly gone. Then memory flashed -- a coffee table, a box of pizza, and a glittering vial beside it.

"Dammit."

She hadn't realized she'd spoken aloud until Kyle said, "What?"

She needed a plan to salvage this embarrassing turn. She picked the first place that came to mind. "I'll meet you at noon, Temple of Dendur inside the Met. We can eat in the café and I'll give it to you then. Right now I have to see Nightwing. Sorry."

-X-

Slade Joseph Wilson had learned to hunt in the military. He'd honed those skills in Africa, and later as a mercenary. But, he'd perfected his abilities on the very people he now hunted. Slade stepped carefully through Grayson's Bludhaven apartment, wary of traps. There seemed to be none. Grayson always had been too trusting for his own good -- and how a trusting soul could end up in a place like Bludhaven was a mystery, though not one Slade was prepared to spend precious time solving just now. He was on a different kind of hunt.

Desmond had given him a picture, pixelated from over-enlargement, of a sealed glass tube in a woman's hand along with the order to retrieve the same from Dick Grayson's apartment in Bludhaven. The big man balked when Slade informed him the fee would be double standard, but Desmond also agreed swiftly to the payment. That haste, especially given Slade's refusal to explain the extravagant price, made the whole deal uncomfortable. Slade felt curious and edgy. Then again, anything to do with Grayson and his cohorts made Slade edgy. The Titans had never been his favored targets; only his decision to fulfill his son's failed contract had brought him into contact with them. After that first encounter, however, their paths continued to cross, as if bound by an invisible chain.

A cast iron frying pan lay on the floor just inside Grayson's apartment, unusual not just for its location but also the dent in its bottom. Slade had seen enough bullet impacts in his life to recognize the ding for what it was. No telling the caliber of the gun, but whoever had fired it had apparently only gotten off one shot. Slade surprised himself by smiling in unintended sympathy for the unlucky brutes chosen to try to take out Dick Grayson. He himself had failed with that particular target, and he had advantages ordinary hired help didn't.

He took a handkerchief from his pocket and picked up the frying pan. It was heavy and oddly well-balanced. With a chuckle, he put it on the counter and moved deeper into the living room. Grayson didn't live with military neatness, but the apartment was tidy and uncluttered. Except for the pizza box on the coffee table, Slade amended.

He nudged the box open with the tip of his blade and looked inside. Double pepperoni, yes, Grayson burned that many calories in his Nightwing activities -- the very activities which, Slade knew, were becoming such an annoyance to Desmond. Idly, he wondered how much the big man would pay for the knowledge that the "nobody named Dick Grayson" was in reality the vigilante, Nightwing. Whatever the fee offered, Slade knew he would never sell that information. The knowledge of Grayson's identity, in fact all the Titans' identities, was hard won and valuable only so long as it was secret. Slade was good at keeping secrets.

He was, in fact, pleased that Grayson had abandoned his home for the present. Slade had already decided not to confront Nightwing. To that end, he'd worn street clothes rather than his costume and mask, and he carried only a single, narrow sword which he could hide in a sheath on his back. There were other ways to gain the item Desmond wanted.

The woman in the picture was the lynchpin. Clearly, the static image had been taken from a video. The grainy condition and the slight blur proved it. That fact, and Desmond's insistence that he go to Grayson's apartment immediately, made Slade conclude that the woman had brought the prize here, tonight, talked with Nightwing about it, and then left, probably before Desmond's troops could even arrive.

Two grease-stained paper plates rested beside the pizza box. That Grayson had shared the pizza with someone was further proof for his theory. Who was that woman? Not Starfire, Slade decided. The woman in the photo had Caucasian skin, perhaps with a hint of Mediterranean background. But someone from the Titans was a strong probability. Whatever the glass tube contained, it would be valuable. Sharing its existence required trust. The Titans trusted each other as family.

Know your prey, Slade lived by that rule. He'd gone to extraordinary lengths to learn all he could about the Titans when he'd faced them before. Now, he used that knowledge to deduce who was assisting Grayson in this business Desmond found so interesting. Not the mystical Raven, he suspected. That woman had a gauntness that reminded him of his ex-wife, and her hands had always been sharp and bony. There were others on the team, but the name that presented itself was Donna Troy.

Her Amazon blood matched the skin tone he'd seen, as did her closeness to Grayson. Slade remembered reports of many quiet moments between the two from the spy he'd had in the team ranks. Troy was a definite possibility, and that suggested a lot about the artifact he was to recover.

In the kitchen, he noted the carafe for the coffee maker was missing. Nothing else seemed out of place. He headed into the bedroom. There the sheets were tousled. One pillow and a crumpled T-shirt lay on the floor to one side of the bed. Slade raised an eyebrow at the open box of condoms on the nightstand. He'd never heard so much as a rumor that Troy and Grayson had a relationship beyond deep friendship. Troy had even asked Grayson to give her away at her wedding. If Grayson was having sex with her, Slade had to consider the possibility the woman was not a Titan.

He gave a mental sigh as he stared at the room. Grayson was never more formidable than when his emotions were involved. He'd be protecting the woman with his whole being. Slade had hoped to simply take the vial and leave Grayson alone, but the chances of that happening had dropped significantly.

"What're ye doing in Mr. Grayson's apartment, then?"

Slade turned to see an Asian woman -- Chinese, he recognized by the shape of her eyes and bone structure -- standing in the doorway to Grayson's bedroom. He turned slowly, taking care to hide his sword behind his back, and cursed himself silently for not being aware of his surroundings. At the same moment he realized this woman wasn't a threat.

"Looking for him," Slade answered with his best charming smile. The decision to wear street clothes kept him from having to answer more dangerous questions. He didn't want to have to kill the woman.

"And why would ye be looking for him?" She sounded suspicious. Slade couldn't blame her. In this city, suspicion was a survival trait bred deep, and she had caught him in the bedroom.

"I'm his uncle," Slade lied easily. Slowly, he slipped the sword under his jacket in back and up into its hidden sheath. "Haven't spoken to him in years, and when I heard he'd moved to Bludhaven, I thought I'd stop in and say hello."

"He's never spoken of an uncle," the woman said. "Nor mentioned any family."

"We're -- estranged." Slade studied her, and realized that she might be the woman in the photograph. As many times as the image had been enlarged, some color distortion might have occurred. "A situation I was hoping to correct by this visit."

"I see." She still sounded suspicious, but also uncertain how aggressive to be. Not surprising since she was confronting a man over twice her mass. "I'll tell him ye stopped by, and give him any message, but I'll have to ask you to leave."

"Are you his girlfriend, perhaps?" His spy had died in a confrontation with the Titans after her treachery had been discovered, but he'd heard from other sources that Grayson had broken up with Starfire. Since then, he'd heard nothing about Grayson's private life. He hadn't expected to; Grayson knew as much about remaining private as he did.

She smiled. "Worse. I'm his landlady."

Probably not the woman in the picture. Slade nodded. "Of course."

The woman stepped out of the doorway and gestured him to precede her out of the apartment. He went without protest. There was nothing more to be learned from the apartment, but he might yet glean some information from the landlady. "I understand your caution, Miss," he said. "But if you could tell me what time he might be home so I won't waste another visit, I'd appreciate it."

"I'm sure I wouldn't know," she said with a chilly smile. "I'm not one t' watch the comings and goings of my tenants. Only strangers."

He stepped outside. Troy was still the best candidate, so he'd focus his efforts on her. He thought she still kept an apartment in New York. He'd try there next.

-X-

It was just ten in the morning, and not even full summer, but the area outside the Kreder mine already felt like an oven. There were no trees to speak of growing here, only some withered weeds and the occasional thorny shrub added color to the gray earth. Anything unlucky enough to root seemed to lose all will for anything but dying. In the distance, Nightwing saw a ring of woods and the tops of apartment buildings that marked the border of the city. But here, nothing wanted to live.

He thought of Benny with his persistent hack and wheeze. The people Blockbuster had working down in the mine were likely all lowlifes of Benny's caliber or worse, but that didn't mean they deserved to have their will to live sucked out of them in Desmond's quest for some death machine.

For the last fifteen minutes Nightwing had been watching the guards from behind a crumbling wall, probably part of the original enclosure for the mine entrance. He noted their patterns, and was relieved to note they never seemed to call in or patrol the area. After the shift changed, and the transport car departed, he decided to attack. Both men went down without firing a weapon. So far, easy. He liked it that way, but wasn't going to assume it would stay easy.

Nightwing secured the guards with zip-ties and pulled on the hazmat suit he'd borrowed from the Batcave. He clicked the lenses in his mask into place. They'd serve a dual purpose in the mine, giving him low-light vision as well as protecting his eyes from the deadly asbestos dust. At least, it would protect his eyes from normal asbestos dust. He had to hope it would protect them from this weird, moving, asbestos, too. Liquid latex applied to his exposed face would provide a protective barrier between the dust and his skin. Then he pulled on a respirator and strapped a tool belt over the hazmat suit. It contained only the essentials: high-powered flashlight, portable isotope detector, jumpline, zip-ties, and escrima sticks. He'd considered bringing a few small explosive charges, but he knew less about mines than he did about asbestos. It would be the perfect cap to his day if he were to somehow bring the mine down on top of himself.

The elevator creaked noisily down the mine shaft. It had surprised him to learn that this was in fact a shaft mine. Most asbestos mines were open pit. Maybe Kreder just preferred to do things the old-fashioned way.

"'Bout time you relieved us," one of the guards at the bottom of the shaft said as the elevator arrived. Nightwing saw the guard's eyes widen in the split second before he swung an escrima stick at the man's neck.

A second guard threw a punch at Nightwing, who dodged and dropped the man with a fist to the solar plexus. Then, he looked around. This part of the mine seemed deserted, so he took a moment to secure the two guards and drag them into the elevator. No matter that he knew these men were criminals, if he left them down here, they could die. He wouldn't allow that. That went for the workers in the mine, too.

Ten minutes and twenty-odd workers later, Nightwing had filled the elevator with Benny Bianchi-style punks. The hardest part so far had been dragging them onto the platform. He hit the lift button, sending the entire load up. His jumpline would get him safely out when he'd finished.

He withdrew the portable spectrometer Bruce had given him from his belt. Another of WayneTech's prototypes, the device wasn't nearly as fancy nor as powerful as the one he'd used to analyze the coffee, but it could identify concentrations of elements through a contact probe. He held the unit up to the wall of the mine, and turned it on. The reading made him frown.

"Magnesium?" He turned to the opposite wall and tested another location. It also read as having a high concentration of magnesium. "Looks like garden variety white asbestos. Very strange."

He moved deeper into the mine, shining his flashlight along the walls. The exposed ore looked grayish-white in the light. Nothing blue, and certainly nothing moving. For the first time he wondered whether that first sample might have come from somewhere else. Had he actually been stupid enough to be played by Benny Bianchi?

Ten feet into the mine, Nightwing came to a collapse that forced him to the right. The mine was littered with small cave-ins. He'd discovered that fact when he'd swept it for workers. The problem was the mine's design. Coal mines in the northeast were often built in the same fashion with a grid of corridors carved around pillars of rock left in place as supports. However, coal was a lot sturdier than asbestos. Here the fibrous rock shifted frequently by the look of things, and nearly every corridor had been reinforced with heavy timber framing. As the wood rotted, the pillars of asbestos crumbled.

Even if the place weren't full of a crawling, carcinogenic substance, it would be unsafe for workers or anyone else. "Including me," Nightwing muttered. He'd do well to finish his inspection and get out. "Test a few more spots to verify this isn't the right source for the asbestos from Benny, and I'm done."

He circled through the only clear path and caught a glitter on a wall farther in. The only light came from the battery lanterns strung here and there on the ancient timbers, dim as the light in a Bludhaven alley. His memory stirred and he briefly turned off his low-light vision as he moved closer. Was the chalky wall actually bluer here?

The spectrometer reading displayed iron and sodium in a similar concentration to the sample he'd found on Benny. "Blue and white asbestos in the same mine? Seriously weird."

He continued methodically through the mine, tracking his lefts and rights, testing each section of wall as he came to it. The concentrations of magnesium continued to decrease. Sodium and iron rose. It was as if something was converting the asbestos to a more toxic form. But, what could do that, some sadistic version of the philosopher's stone that got bored doing the lead to gold thing?

A feeling of unease scratched at the back of his neck. He became aware of how ungainly the hazmat suit made his body. He noted every creak and groan in the old, dark hole, as if his ears knew he could face combat at any moment. The fact he was quite sure he'd dealt with all the workers and guards made no difference.

The farther away from the mine's entry he got, the darker the asbestos, and the higher the concentration of iron and sodium. The change in the asbestos was a tantalizing clue. It was probably too much to hope that he'd reach the heart of Blockbuster's current scheme at the end of the tunnel. Still, the mystery pushed him forward despite the sense of danger now throbbing in the back of his skull.

In an unlit corner, piles of tumbled wood and rock nearly hid the single passage. The standing timbers there were black with rot and bowed. A glance down that corridor revealed walls as dark as midnight.

Nightwing inched his way in, only to find what appeared to be a dead end. Then, just as he was about to give up, he noticed that the collapse to his right had not been total. A passage just wide enough for his body offered entrance to this second area of the mine. Tentatively, he leaned in, flicked his flashlight beam over the space beyond, and saw the walls move.


	5. Chapter 5

Slade stared across a sleek glass desk at Roland Desmond and tried to estimate how frequently the furniture in this room had to be replaced. The big man's fists clenched. His lips curled back in a snarl. In short he was not taking Slade's report well.

"What do you mean, you don't have the vial?" Desmond demanded.

Slade concealed his irritation. The report wouldn't change with this third repetition, but Desmond was paying him well, so he could afford to waste time reciting what the big man already knew.

"Grayson wasn't in his apartment when I arrived." Slade kept his report to the essentials. "Neither was the vial. I presume he left after your men scared him."

There was no way Desmond's men had scared Grayson. The worst danger to Nightwing had probably been fear of giving himself a hernia while laughing at their incompetence. But Slade wasn't going to tell Desmond that.

"So you're telling me it's gone?" Desmond growled in what Slade presumed was supposed to be a threatening manner.

"I'm telling you I haven't recovered it yet. But I have a lead on who the woman in your video footage might be, and I'm following up on that."

"For what I'm paying you," Desmond said, "I expect more progress than this."

There were some assignments -- like this one -- where Slade charged more simply because he knew the target would be especially difficult. There were others where he charged less either because the target was especially soft or, sometimes, because the target especially deserved killing. But he never worked without some sort of contract.

At this moment, he was considering killing Desmond for free.

"I've identified the couple involved," Slade told him. "It's just a matter of time."

Desmond would be easy to kill, Slade thought, despite his size. A blade slipped between the second and third ribs would glide right into the man's heart. Or he could go for messy and shove a grenade down Desmond's throat. If he wanted truly dramatic, he could grab the marble bust of Lorenzo de Medici and use it to crash open Desmond's ribcage, tear out his still-beating heart, and squash it in his fist like an over-ripe tomato.

"What are you smiling at?" Desmond demanded.

"Just thinking about murder as a public service."

Before Desmond could respond, the phone on his desk rang. Slade didn't bother to listen in, though he had to move his hand away from his blade before he acted on the impulse to kill.

A moment later, Desmond slammed his phone down with such force that the receiver shattered.

"Problems?" Slade inquired mildly.

The big man was already shoving himself to his feet. He moved with remarkable speed for someone eight feet tall. "Nightwing."

"Nightwing?" Oh, this just got interesting.

"He's interfering with my operation at the mine. I want him stopped. I'll pay double your normal rate for this one, too."

It wasn't often Slade was offered quadruple his normal rate for a single kill. He wondered if Desmond would try to renege on the deal once he found out Grayson and Nightwing were the same person -- which wouldn't be until after Grayson was dead.

"I'll get my armor," Slade said.

-X-

"It's been nearly a whole day since I gave Donna the ambrosia," Diana whispered to herself. "And the world has not exploded, or burned." Still, the tension in her shoulders didn't relax. She walked alone in the Grove of Antiope, where she'd spent so many quiet moments, waiting, hoping. As always, the grove was beautiful, serene. It made Diana long for the excitement of the wider world.

Unfortunately, she no longer had a place outside her home island. Her mother still wore Diana's old costume. Philippus and others had told her that while the duty of Wonder Woman had been intended to punish Hippolyta, the queen had taken to the role with relish.

"Like mother, like daughter," Diana told a squirrel that looked down at her from a limb overhead. "But can there be two Wonder Women at the same time? And if not, how do we assign or rotate the duty?" That her mother might not be interested in such a compromise wasn't a notion Diana was willing to entertain. She'd press the issue if need be. She had to--

A commotion at the edge of the grove distracted her thoughts. She turned to see Melia and Venilia racing through the trees, with the high priestess Penelope following at an unseemly pace. Diana hurried after, her curiosity roused. Such displays were rare on Themyscira.

Their path led out of the tranquil grove, down a steep embankment toward the place where Doom's Doorway hid. Diana's stomach knotted with that realization. She once believed she'd destroyed the portal, but as a goddess she realized that such passages between the worlds can never be destroyed. Upon her return the priestesses assured her the Doorway remained well guarded. Still, she couldn't quell a sense of dread as she raced downward.

Well before they reached the Doorway, the trio stopped. The high priestess knelt. In the underbrush by the side of the narrow path, Diana saw a scrap of bright yellow that could only be a chiton. "What is going on?"

"Princess." They turned to look at her. In the gap between them, Diana saw a long leg streaked with dirt resting in the grass. A body? An Amazon body?

"Who is this? What happened?"

The force of her questions made her sisters step back, revealing the corpse. An Amazon, indeed, but old, dessicated. Only Diana's hunter's eyes and her instinct for truth enabled her to identify the fallen woman. "Timandra! What has happened to her?"

"Trouble yet again from Doom's Doorway, Princess," Venilia answered.

"The third to fall," Melia added.

"Fall? To what enemy? And why does this enemy still live?"

Penelope ordered the others to hush. She rose slowly. "It is no enemy of this Earth, Princess. We pray for deliverance from the gods."

"I saw nothing of this from Olympus," Diana said. "Else I would have acted to save our sister."

"It is to the lord of gods we must direct our questions and our prayers." Penelope eyed her suspiciously and Diana curled her fists.

"Have you told my mother of these murders? Does the queen agree to wait on the gods rather than taking action as warriors should?"

"The queen's duty is as a champion beyond these shores now," Penelope countered. Diana didn't need a godly sense of truth to know she was hiding something.

"Then it falls to me, as her eldest daughter, to investigate this matter." There would be an argument, but not here, not while their sister drew the attention of flies and lay exposed in the sun. There would be more than an argument when Diana discovered what was happening to her home.

-X-

Squeezing through the opening in the collapsed rubble was all the more exciting when Nightwing thought about the consequences of a torn hazmat suit. One careless snag and he could probably look forward to a lingering, painful death. But he slithered past the splintered wood and rough, deadly rock, twisting and turning his body as best he could. He managed to get through without damaging the suit or dislocating his shoulder again.

He'd tossed his flashlight through first so the circle of light on the floor could guide him. But, the glowing spot undulated, like heat waves over a desert. He pushed through the passage faster. He tried not to think about what might be waiting on the other side of the obstruction.

He would have liked to believe whatever caused the odd distortions had a very boring explanation. Dust moving through the air perhaps, or an odd heat or gas given off by the mine. But, he couldn't make himself buy the argument. He pulled free of the debris, landed awkwardly, and caught himself on his hands to avoid falling on his face. His respirator probably wasn't good enough to survive direct contact with the junk in here.

The surface moved beneath his hands, and an unfamiliar jolt of fear lanced through him. He looked down to see the floor shaping itself around his hands like some metallic fungus come to life. Picking up his flashlight, Nightwing scrambled to his feet and steadied his breathing.

This wouldn't be the weirdest danger he'd ever encountered. At least that's what he told himself. He turned the flashlight on the walls. The circle of illumination showed him a single passage rather than the grid-labyrinth of the old mine. He assumed he'd stumbled upon the final phase of the operation before it closed.

The walls weren't just moving. The whole room crawled as if the asbestos was alive. Nightwing pulled his attention away from that creeping mass. The light caught on the dust dancing through the air. That was normal movement, caused by air wafting down a ventilation shaft barely visible in the deep recesses of the chamber.

Nightwing crossed the space to inspect the opening, the floor of the mine sucking on his boots with each step. A network of animated asbestos had formed over the entrance to the shaft. Wishing he had a ten-foot pole instead of an escrima stick, Nightwing used one stick to knock it away. He felt a healthy flood of air from above wash over him, and instinctively inhaled deeply. It smelled fresher somehow, but that was a trick of his mind. It was still respirator-filtered air. Then he realized that no sunlight accompanied the wash of air. The long shaft above trapped it all. Still, the ventilation tunnel might provide an escape route, Nightwing thought, though it looked too wide to scale by bracing shoulders and legs against the sides, and too narrow to accurately shoot a jump line straight up and still hope to catch something above.

For now, however, this chamber was too dangerous a puzzle to leave unsolved. He ignored the swarming mineral and pressed the sensor on the portable spectrometer against the wall. Its readout convulsed. Sodium, iron, and magnesium all read off the scale and for a moment, Nightwing imagined that he was inhaling death itself.

"Overactive imagination, much?" He spoke aloud as he stepped cautiously deeper into this undeveloped side tunnel. The walls absorbed his voice instead of echoing it back to him.

The material on the walls appeared to grow darker, blacker. The light from his flashlight sank into it. Even if Desmond's men had found this passage, he expected they would not have ventured past the writhing, hungry surfaces to reach this point. It took all Nightwing's will to force one foot before the other.

"So this is what a black hole is like, no light escaping." Nightwing swallowed and pressed further on.

The thoroughness ingrained in him since he had first started working with Batman made him test the wall every few feet. The material here was no longer truly asbestos. Nor was it, despite the movement, made of organic material. It retained the sodium-iron blue asbestos base, but something else now tainted the composition. The spectrometer's readout spiked and sputtered and finally flashed a signal for "unknown substance."

"Unknown, and I'm guessing more deadly." The sense of dread Nightwing had felt earlier now licked all the way down his spine. He'd never suffered claustrophobia, but here the walls did seem to be closing around him.

He skimmed the spectrometer along the wall now, testing all the way. He'd squat, run the device up the wall as he stood slowly, then move one step and lower it. With every passing foot the readings became more bizarre, and the sense that death waited, spider-like, right behind him intensified.

He could taste the change now, even through his respirator -- a bitter, bile flavor he normally only tasted after throwing up. Beneath his hazmat suit and costume, his skin itched as though a million tiny bugs crawled over his body. He wondered if this stuff was toxic enough to eat through his suit. Fear screamed at him to leave now, and Desmond's weapon be damned. Nightwing had learned how to muzzle fear when he was a boy, but this was insidious, digging under his mental defenses like sappers undermining ancient earthworks until he had to fight to keep his feet where they were.

At the ragged edge of his determination, when he was about to conclude that fear had the right idea, the spectrometer reading shifted abruptly.

Nightwing blinked to clear his eyes and frowned at the result. Silver?

He tested another location on the wall and the machine displayed the same unrecognizable compounds he'd been gathering from this part of the mine. Then he returned to the first location and got another reading of pure silver.

With one of his escrima sticks he poked at the wall. A few clots of the not-asbestos reluctantly relinquished their grip, falling away to reveal the edges of a metal door perhaps six inches square. Its surface, mottled black like an old mirror, had been invisible in the gloom of the mine. He rubbed at it with his gloved hand, noting the slight glint that appeared as he worked. Beneath the tarnish and patina of age, the door was silver.

For a moment, Nightwing stared, amazement displacing fear. Kreder had ordered a door of pure silver cast, instead of using a steel door, or even an armor-plated one. That kind of custom order might still have a trail Barbara could track, if needed. For now, Nightwing felt around the edge, found a latch, tugged, and the door opened.

The box in the wall was silver as well. Once it had been lined with some sort of cloth, maybe silk, but that had deteriorated to threads over time. The opening seemed to sink into the wall forever. Nightwing couldn't see the back of it even with the aid of his flashlight. But, the light did reveal a flicker of untarnished metal partway back. Ever so carefully, Nightwing reached inside and caught the thing in his fingers. He drew out an arrow nearly as long as his arm.

"Funny." Nightwing turned the arrow to study it from all directions. "You don't look like a super-weapon."

It appeared to be more ornamental than practical, honestly, despite the sharpened tip. Though designed to look like the split-shaft and iron head of a real, ancient arrow, the long, blade-shaped head and the intricately carved shaft were all one casting. Even the fletching feathers were silver. The arrow was pristine, as if it had just left the craftsman's polishing wheel. Nightwing recognized the decorative symbols -- protogeometric like those on Donna's vial.

No doubt the arrow had come from Johann Kreder's personal collection, and valuable far beyond its silver content. It could have been secreted away for monetary reasons. Still, an arrow was technically a weapon, and obviously Greek in origin, which meant it fit the legend of Kreder's super-weapon. And the strange, animate malevolence of the surrounding chamber made that possibility more real.

Nightwing shook off another intense desire to flee. If this was the super-weapon, he'd found what he was looking for. If it was, as it appeared, merely a stolen artifact, it certainly didn't belong buried in a mine outside Bludhaven. Bruce's contacts could help return this arrow to the Greek government.

Carefully, he slid the arrow into the holster next to his escrima stick. It was time to get out of this mine, and that thought brought a wave of relief so intense it unsettled him. Nightwing focused on the next step of the investigation as he headed back to the collapse.

Finding the pretty arrow was something, but the likelihood it was a super-weapon seemed pretty small. Probably, there had been something else here, a true Armageddon device, that had warped the asbestos in this chamber. But, it had been removed long ago. Blockbuster couldn't have found it already. If he had, he wouldn't have had people still working down in this hole.

So, where could the thing be now? Before he could pursue that trail of thoughts further, a low thudding sound echoed through the mine. If he hadn't known he'd cleared the workers out of the mine earlier, Nightwing would've sworn the sound was a footfall.

Whether it was a suddenly freed and emboldened guard or merely -- such a deceptive word -- a shifting in the timbers supporting the pillars of the mine, Nightwing decided it was a good signal that he'd spent too much time here. He hurried to the collapse and squeezed through.

The trip back through the rubble was easier now that he knew what to expect. He stepped into the main part of the mine, grateful to be away from the feeling that the wall were crawling toward his back. Straightening, he turned, focused his flashlight forward, and stopped when the beam illuminated a human form that filled the entire tunnel.

Nightwing winced. Somehow, Blockbuster had found him.

-X-

Barbara ran through her security protocols with far more attention than she normally gave them. Normally, she basked in her security protocols. Normally, she relaxed in the knowledge that she'd never given any hacker clues to her identity. Normally, she was safe.

Tonight, that had changed. She could blame Dick for not having the encryption installed, even months after he'd moved to Bludhaven, but that would be unfair. Somehow, somewhere, she'd left a hint, a signature, something.

She stared unseeing at the progress bar as it tracked her routine, wondering what that clue might have been. She'd never used the name Oracle. Never hinted at what she did. Still, someone had found her. She'd have to make sure that never happened again.

She waited for her palms to sweat, for her neck to tickle with fear. She'd grown so accustomed to those sensations, but tonight something else was different. Tonight she felt the slightest catch in her lungs, the briefest acceleration of her heartbeat. She knew those sensations. She used to share them with Dick when they soared through Gotham. Excitement, not fear, tickled her blood.

The progress bar ticked over to 100% complete, and a siren filled the room, making her jump.

"What the hell?" Barbara's fingers flew over the keyboard, initiating diagnostics and security measures. Her skin tingled. Even as she did, the screen before her went blank.

A moment later, a single line of text appeared:

_I'm the one who hacked you earlier. If you want to know why, call me._

A telephone number with a local exchange followed.

Yesterday it would have been fear urging her trace the phone number. Today, it was the thrill of the hunt. She wasn't surprised that it was one of a block of numbers registered as pre-paid phones. A somewhat deeper search revealed that the phone had been purchased several days before, and the buyer had paid cash.

Barbara frowned at the dead-end trail displayed on her screen, unconsciously tapping one finger on her keyboard, considering.

Fear would have urged her to delete the number immediately and upgrade all of her security systems. But if she did that, she might miss some information that could save a life. Dick's life.

She initiated a call, bouncing it through twelve satellites and a high-level encryption. _Trace me now._ She loved the challenge in her thought.

The phone was answered on the second ring. A woman's voice, hesitant, unfiltered by electronic scrambling or distortion, said, "Hello?"

"You sent me this number." Barbara's voice was scrambled, though. It almost always was, since Oracle had taken over.

"Oracle?"

"Yes. What should I call you?"

A brief hesitation, then, "My handle's Mouse."

Barbara recognized the name immediately. "You work with Giz."

"Yeah." The woman's voice cracked. "If he survives." Before Barbara could decide whether asking for details would be rude or simply prudent, Mouse continued, "He's in the hospital right now, with a shattered femur and patella."

"Broken legs usually aren't life-threatening," Barbara couldn't help pointing out.

"Not broken. Shattered. They think the surgery to remove all the fragments of bone is going to take hours. And then there's the question of an artificial bone..." Mouse's voice trailed off, and Barbara heard a sniffle.

"What could shatter the bone like that?" Barbara asked gently. She could think of a dozen answers without effort, but she was curious which one was the correct answer.

"A man -- well, he looks like a man. Roland Desmond."

Dread swelled Barbara's throat. "Blockbuster."

"I called to warn you."

She didn't need the warning, Barbara thought. She knew all too well what kind of monster Blockbuster really was. But Mouse sounded terrified, and clearly believed the warning would help, even if she was only warning a distorted voice on the phone.

Some reassuring instinct she'd forgotten she possessed made Barbara shut off the voice scrambler. "Why don't you start at the beginning?"

"Ah --" Mouse sounded surprised, probably by the change in voice, but recovered quickly. "He hired us to do some research. He was sure your database had the information he needs."

And Mouse had managed to get into her database, even if only the outermost layers. Barbara was impressed. "And?"

"And I didn't find what he really wanted. But I did get a snippet of a video feed. A man and a woman, with some fancy test tube. He seemed to like that."

"Why'd he hurt Giz?" Barbara asked quietly.

"Because he likes it. He likes causing others pain when he has an excuse." Mouse's voice conveyed a world of loathing. "The excuse this time was that we told him the truth -- that mathematically nobody's going to be able to break into your database. That socially, Oracle's never left any tracks. That you were unhackable."

"But you did," Barbara said. "And I have to say, I wonder how."

"A longshot gamble that paid off," Mouse said. "Oracle's never left any social tracks, but some years ago, there was a Delphi. Oracle, Delphi -- not the greatest connection, but it was all I had, and I had to try, or Giz would --" Mouse broke off, and Barbara could only imagine the other woman trying to collect her emotions.

Barbara sympathized. How many nights had she sat here, listening to Dick or Bruce in a fight, knowing she was powerless to help, waiting for their voices to come back over the line. And that was just the potential for one of them being seriously hurt. She didn't even want to think about what would happen when the day came that they were seriously hurt, as it inevitably would.

She brought her mind back to the present. "Why are you telling me this?"

There was a silence, and for a moment Barbara thought Mouse might've disconnected. But the call still showed as active, and after a few moments, Mouse said, "Self-preservation. I don't want us to get caught between you and him. Assuming Giz -- which I have to assume, right?"

The desperation in the other woman's voice decided her. Barbara pulled her keyboard closer. "Where are you?"

"Why do you want to know?"

"So I can send you the best orthopedic surgeon in the area."

"Why would you do that?" Mouse's voice held open astonishment, and Barbara would bet good money that she was staring at the phone she held.

"Because Blockbuster's a monster," Barbara said. It was the best explanation she was willing to give. She didn't want to try to explain the feeling of sudden kinship she had to the other hacker. "And because I don't want a quarrel with you."

"Bludhaven," Mouse said. "Rabe Memorial."

"I'll have someone there as soon as I can. What did Blockbuster have you looking for?"

-X-

"I'm surprised the elevator held you." As opening salvos went, that one wasn't one of Nightwing's best. But it was the first thing he thought when he saw Desmond crouched in the mine tunnel -- no, not standing. The man's eight-foot bulk filled the passage, providing not so much as a crevice to wiggle past.

"You." Desmond's voice boomed throughout the tunnel. The rage in that shout vibrated the shaky timbers of the mine. Desmond started toward him, a hunched-over troll lumbering through his mountain. Clouds of powdery wood rolled down his shoulders, making him look as if he were steaming. "You've interfered with me for the last time."

Nightwing's mind snapped into battle-mode, analyzing dozens of variables in the same instant Blockbuster took that first step toward him. His hazmat suit restricted his movements, but Desmond was at a greater mobility disadvantage.

Nightwing realized Desmond was counting on his bulk to block any escape. He intended to advance inexorably, a juggernaut crushing everything in its path to paste. All he had to do was get close to Nightwing, trap him against a wall, and the contest would be over before it began.

Nightwing retreated before Desmond's advance, his mind still working furiously. There was precious little space between the piles of collapsed asbestos. He could try to squeeze back through the passage into the side tunnel where he'd found the arrow, but that only delayed the inevitable. If Desmond couldn't pull him out, he'd just bring the mine down on him.

Roaring, Desmond launched a punch. Nightwing ducked to the side, but was fast running out of room to dodge. Neither of them could maneuver, but that was solely Nightwing's disadvantage. Desmond's bulk bore down on him and that was all the big man needed to win.

Nightwing desperately needed more accessible ground. The only place he could find that was outside this mine -- past Desmond and up the elevator -- precisely the place he could not reach. There was no choice but try to fight his way out.

Nightwing grabbed his escrima sticks. The arrow came into his left hand along with the stick. He had no time to put it down. If he could disable Desmond temporarily, he might open an escape route. It was a long shot, but he had to get past the mass that was Bludhaven's latest crime lord or die.

He rammed the right-hand stick toward Desmond's throat. Desmond moved unnaturally fast, catching hold of the stick in his massive fist. Nightwing had to let go or risk being caught himself. He watched as the huge hand snapped the sturdy weapon like a twig.

Time for plan B. If there was a plan B.

Nightwing dodged another blow, winced when Desmond's fist shattered a wooden support beam.

Blunt trauma hadn't worked. Maybe slicing would. Nightwing dropped his remaining escrima stick and shifted the angle of the arrow in his left hand. A slash across the knee should make Desmond stumble enough for Nightwing to vault over his bent back toward freedom. It seemed a shame to use what was likely a sacred object in such a fashion, but desecration was better than dying.

Desmond took another step, and Nightwing lunged. He aimed for Desmond's forward knee. The blow was weak due to his injured shoulder, but he felt the point connect and dig deep. Pulled more by Desmond's forward momentum than the force of the blow, the arrow was yanked from Nightwing's hand.

Desmond screamed, a sound more animal than human, and tried to kick his attacker. Nightwing had already rolled out of the way, but he still saw no way past the immensity that was Blockbuster. Instead, he found himself pinned against the side wall as he watched the giant fall.

The giant man continued falling. At first, Nightwing thought Desmond was collapsing into the floor of the mine. But, then his mind sorted out what he was really seeing. Blockbuster was deflating as if his body were filled with air rather than bone and muscle. The injured leg went flat first. Then, the hip followed. Desmond roared, but there was no wood-shaking power in his lungs now. The wail sounded more like a hiss of escaping steam.

A bluish cloud escaped his open mouth, enveloping his body, stretching through the narrow space, and Nightwing held his breath despite his respirator. He didn't want to taste that noxious mist. The vapor condensed rapidly, falling in a fine powder to the floor of the mine, and Desmond was simply gone.

-X-

Slade couldn't see much of the fight. Desmond filled too much of the available space. Still, Slade caught a flash of silver near the big man's knee. And then Desmond disintegrated.

In the alcove beyond, Slade saw a figure crouching awkwardly. Even though it wore a dark hazmat suit and its mouth was covered by a respirator, Slade recognized Nightwing's mask. Nightwing remained still, staring at the pile of dust that had been Roland Desmond.

"Impressive," Slade said. Nightwing started and looked up, telling Slade the young vigilante hadn't been aware of him until he'd spoken. "I didn't think you had it in you."

It was a taunt, a jibe, and at any other time it might have made Nightwing angry. As it was, the boy shook his head, once, as he straightened. "What are you doing here?"

"Desmond was paying me to kill you. Both yous, actually. But he won't be paying me or anyone else now, so I suppose I'll let you live."

"You're all heart." Nightwing's tone lacked its usual verve. The kid actually regretted Desmond's death. Slade felt a sudden jolt of uncharacteristic paternal compassion. It could be hard the first time, but killing got easier.

"For what it's worth, he deserved to die," he told the younger man. "I'd been thinking about doing it myself. I consider your killing him a fair trade for my letting you live."

Nightwing had started forward, apparently casually, while Slade made his last speech, but Slade had learned long ago how to read body language. Nightwing was focused on a sliver arrow barely visible in the pile of Desmond dust.

Remembering that flash of silver right before the huge man's death, Slade decided he needed to get that arrow before Nightwing. He drew a compressed-air net gun, the first weapon to fall into his hand, and fired. The net wrapped around the young vigilante's torso, trapping his arms by his side.

"What --"

"Sorry," Slade said. "But that thing is far too interesting to let slip away."

He wasn't surprised when Nightwing lashed out with a kick as he headed for the prize. Catching that foot, Slade pivoted out of the way, knocking the young man off balance in the process. Nightwing landed with a thud and Slade pinned his thigh with one knee.

"You don't need this, either," Slade said and yanked Nightwing's tool belt off. He tossed the items in the tool belt aside then fastened the belt around the young man's ankles.

Slade stood and turned back for the arrow. "You know what I always liked about you? You may banter like crazy, but you generally don't make stupid threats."

"No," Nightwing answered. "Not stupid threats. Just ones I know I'll carry out."

Slade picked up the arrow, barely spared a moment to appreciate its beauty. "Like now, you want to say that you're going to find me and take this back, right? Because you just don't want someone like me having this."

"Something like that," Nightwing agreed. He had already freed his feet from the belt. Slade wasn't surprised.

"Then I'll make you a deal," Slade backed away from the vigilante as he spoke. "Meet you Thursday, at noon, at the Jefferson Memorial."

"You're just going to give it back to me?" Nightwing sounded dubious.

"Absolutely," Slade said. "Provided you give me that vial you and Troy have been so fascinated with." He paused. "Unless you were stupid enough to bring it with you, in which case I'll take it now."

"I don't have it with me."

So it was Troy, not some other woman. Slade smiled behind his mask and surreptitiously pulled a small explosive from his weapons belt. "Then I'll see you in DC."

Slade turned and jogged back toward the elevator. He tossed the explosive over his shoulder. No sense in making it easy on the kid.

-X-

Had Deathstroke actually thrown a grenade into the mine?

He had, and Nightwing had only seconds to move before the blast hit. Eight at best, four at worst.

Four.

Nightwing scrambled to his feet, slightly off balance thanks to his arms being pinned at his side. Deathstroke probably didn't intend to kill him -- probably -- but this mine wasn't stable to start with.

Three.

He dashed around the corner to the cave-in that led to the black hole of creepiness. Getting through the small opening was even more difficult without his hands free. He winced as his injured shoulder struck a large rock.

Two.

He squirmed forward, undulating his body in a manner that reminded him of how Garth had once taught him to dolphin-swim, and caught his boot on an outcropping, used it for leverage and shoved forward.

One.

Nightwing fell into the side chamber, landing hard on his injured shoulder. The explosion ripped through the mine.

For a moment he lay there, simply glad he could still breathe, still think. Clouds of thick, toxic dust blinded him, and his lungs hurt despite his respirator. But the floor was grabbing at him again, trying to pull him into its surface. He struggled to his knees. The darkness should have been total, but flashes of light illuminated the ceiling.

What now? He'd lost his flashlight, but the wriggling forms on the ceiling glowed on their own. Was the ceiling really alive? He stretched his neck to one side, until his forehead touched his shoulder, and tapped his night-vision lenses into place.

Yes, the ceiling was alive, all right, with squirmy, wormy creatures -- centipedes, some over three inches long, spiders, and other insects. Nightwing swallowed. They all glowed a sickly yellow, like a B-movie director's vision of toxic creatures. Clearly, the insects had been affected by the mutated asbestos and could be dangerously venomous.

"Okay, Dick," he muttered, "time to call for a ride home. Now."

That was easier said than done, because first he had to loosen the net around his arms. His shoulder wasn't going to like this. The floor was clawing more slowly now, as if it was dying now that the arrow had been removed from the area, but he still felt his body easing into the noxious surface. Instead, the insects from above began to plop to the floor.

Nightwing used the clinging floor to help with the engulfing net. He inched his body backward. A slithering insect dropped from the ceiling onto his forehead. Nightwing paused and held his breath until the multi-legged creature wandered over his cheek and then away. Then, he continued his work. Slowly, the net pushed its way up his arms until finally it was above his elbows. That was all he needed. He sat up and jerked the ropes away from his body. His injured shoulder screamed in pain as he did.

By comparison, shifting his arms out of the sleeves of the hazmat suit was a cakewalk. Working blind with his arms inside the body of the suit, however clumsy, gave him access to the wristguard that concealed his radio. Slowly again -- creatures were dropping to the floor regularly now and he tried not to take it personally -- he made his way to the return air shaft. The opening, with its draft of fresh, sweet air, must have been less appealing to the creatures since they did not follow him to that corner. He crushed more of the asbestos away until the opening was big enough to allow him to crawl inside the shaft. He punched the code for Oracle and waited.

-X-

Donna drummed her fingers on the French linen overlaying what she was sure was a several-hundred-year-old table. Around her, fine china glistened from glass-fronted breakfronts and mullioned windows offered conciliatory views of lavish gardens. The Wayne butler hovered in the doorway, ready with a covered platter of who-knew-what pastry to add to the confections already littering the tabletop. Gods, she wanted to kill something.

Preferably Dick Grayson.

"Do you have any idea how much longer he'll be, Alfred?"

"I am sorry, Miss Troy, but Master Dick only informed us that he would be investigating some business in Bludhaven. He didn't leave a schedule. Would you care for raisin scones instead of the biscuits? Perhaps more tea?"

"The tea is fine. I really need to speak with Dick." She frowned. Then, a fresh idea occurred to her. "He didn't happen to leave anything with you, did he? Perhaps a vessel of ornamental glass somewhat longer than my finger?"

"No, Miss," Alfred said. "The only thing he left here is a pot of coffee. He and Master Bruce were discussing asbestos for most of his visit."

"A pot of coffee?" Donna repeated. What did that have to do with anything? Still, she had to ask, "Where is it?"

Alfred didn't answer, other than by angling his gaze downward.

"Ah." Donna understood. The Batcave.

"Yes, Miss." He frowned, then said, "Excuse me, Miss, there are some household things I must attend to."

"Of course." She forced a smile that turned to a frown when she saw the earpiece the butler wore. So, he was getting a message, possibly from Dick. He had said Bruce was at a meeting at WayneTech. As soon as Alfred was out of visual range, Donna lifted herself from the chair. She floated silently after him. The butler was well trained but, she suspected, not so used to thwarting people who could fly.

Donna hoped Dick, when she finally caught up with him, had a good explanation for vanishing with her vial. She would give him time to set things right. She wasn't unreasonable. At least that's what she told herself. Inside, she couldn't help seething.

She kept remembering Terry and the games he would play -- _don't fly off to save the world, honey; I need help with my paper_. And when she finally stopped giving in, he threatened to expose her identity if she fought to keep custody of their son. Oh, he'd had plenty of calm, rational explanations for that betrayal. _Bobby wouldn't be safe in your world, Donna. I'll have to prove that if you fight me. How can I show them that truth and protect your identity? Surely, you understand the child comes first._

_And who was Bobby with when he died_, she mentally berated Terry's ghost.

Donna believed Dick would never betray her like that. He was protecting her vial. She knew that. Well, she thought that. But then she'd believed Terry, too. It was hard to be sure of anything other than her date with Kyle in New York was less than an hour away.

She followed Alfred into the library and touched down behind him before he had the concealed entrance to the cave open.

"Alfred," she said.

He jumped and turned, clearly startled. She would've been amused at his expression if the situation weren't so serious. "I'm sorry, Miss, but I do have business to attend to."

"And if it's in the Batcave, I'm going with you." She hated to be rude, but where else would Dick have left her vial?

"But, Miss, no one's home."

"That's fine. I don't need anyone to be home. I just want to look for something that belongs to me. Something I accidentally left with Dick. He knows it needs to be safe. There are few places on Earth safer than the Batcave."

"That is true, Miss." Alfred smiled gently and adjusted the time on the grandfather clock. The clock swung away from the wall and Alfred opened the door behind it. "I believe you can be trusted with anything you might see or hear downstairs."

"I have been to the cave before."

"Things have changed since your last visit, Miss." Alfred gestured for her to precede him into the elevator.

"Things" referred mostly to new equipment, Donna thought, especially the giant computer screen that dominated one wall. She'd seen movie theaters with smaller screens.

"Please look around, Miss, but if you choose to open anything, ask first." Alfred was all business, and he crossed to the bank of computers in front of that giant screen.

Donna would have started at the logical places, except she didn't know where a logical place was. Near the weapons racks? Highly unlikely. By the computers? Certainly not. She roamed closer to the display cases that held Dick's old Robin suit and other memorabilia. Staring at the costume now, it was hard to remember how Dick managed to look every bit the leader in a Christmas red vest and green underwear. But, that was Dick. He could probably lead an army in a pink tutu and not generate one giggle among the troops. The image did make Donna chuckle, however.

Alfred had seated himself at a monitor and was speaking in low, grim tones into a microphone. Donna shifted her angle so she could see over his shoulder. A stylized mask design filled the screen.

She recognized the mask from Kyle's description. Oracle. The WayneTech meeting was a lie then. It must be Justice League business for Bruce. She turned back to her search, deciding that a circular pattern was probably best. She could cover the entire cave in one trip if she was careful.

"Miss Troy."

Donna turned at the note of concern in Alfred's voice. "Yes?"

"I understand you have other business, but may we impose on you?" His expression matched his voice. Something deeply troubled him.

"What do you need?" Donna asked.

"Master Dick is in trouble."

-X-

Nightwing didn't want to think about the things crawling around mere inches from his feet. He didn't want to think about Deathstroke having escaped with that silver death arrow. He really didn't want to think about killing Desmond, however unintentional it might have been. He couldn't think about any of that now, so he forced that thoughts aside. He didn't want to worry about Donna either, but she filled his mind fully.

He clung to what Bruce said, that Donna needed time before she'd be willing to talk to him again. She wasn't injured or captured, and certainly not dead. She just hated him. It was a sad situation when that was the best he could hope for.

His cell phone had cut out part way into his conversation with Barbara. He was pretty sure she'd gotten his location. Still, he would have preferred to stay on the line with her and talk rather than just let his mind wander off into what could be, might be, and wasn't.

"Could be" would not include Donna gone. He refused to accept that. She was, he realized, his longest running female relationship. He'd known Donna longer than he had Babs. Only Bruce and Alfred shared more years of association with him. Technically, he supposed he'd met Garth, Wally, and Roy at the same time he'd met Donna, but they had never grown as close. He liked the original male Titans. He loved Donna.

Was his loving her the reason they'd never gotten together? It sounded stupid echoing through his mind, but also true. His other loves had never reached the depth he felt for Donna. He'd told himself what he felt for Donna was deeper for not being sexual, but that was a comfortable fabrication. The truth was, it was so deep, so important, that if he let himself imagine it as sexual the risk would overwhelm him. That's what Crane's nightmares had been telling him -- this is the love it would kill him to lose.

He drew in a heavy breath and the respirator hissed with the intake. He'd lost love before and it hurt like hell. When Kory chose to follow her father's hopeless plan and marry someone else, he'd thought he could never feel more rejected. When he had to accept that Barbara would always withdraw if he advanced, the truth had stung. But right now, thinking that Donna might not forgive him, he felt as if his lungs were collapsing.

And she might not. Oh, he knew they would get past the failed sex. Even if they resolved the awkwardness by pretending it was a big mistake, they would get past it. He wasn't sure she would forgive him for what he needed to ask, however. If he was going to catch Slade, he needed her to trust him with that vial the gods had sent to her. And, if he lost it, he wouldn't deserve to be forgiven.

He tried to focus on the ways he could explain the necessity to her, but he kept coming back to the expression she wore when she felt she'd been betrayed. Her brows drooped a little and she'd blink a lot. She never frowned, but her lower lip would suck in under her teeth and her chin would quiver. He'd seen that look on her face when Terry filed for divorce, and when she first broke up with Kyle. In those cases he could be angry for her and promise to comfort her, defend her. He could be her knight. But, what would he do when he was the cause of that look?

Nightwing steadied his breathing and prayed that Bruce would get him out of here soon so he could do something other than think. Even fighting Slade and losing would be better. He looked up the air shaft at the miniscule square of gray Bludhaven sky above. Only a tiny portion of that pale light ever made it all the way down the shaft.

He stared at that sky and allowed himself to ponder why, if he loved Donna this much, he'd never told her. "She never chose me," he told himself. But, he had to reply, "I never pursued either."

If he wasn't the man from his nightmares, if he was still the guy who answered 'not good enough' with 'I'll become better', then he had to change that situation. She wouldn't choose him, but he could pursue. And that thought, at last, made Nightwing smile.

He didn't know how much time passed before a rope dropped down the shaft and hit him in the head. He stood, happy to bid a farewell to his crawling, slithering companions, and wrapped his good arm around the rope and tugged twice. Then he was rising through the shaft, swiftly, smoothly. He'd expected to have to help, to brace his feet along one side of the shaft or the other, and assist Bruce with the ascent. But maybe Bruce had been working out more than he'd thought.

Then he cleared the mine, blinked against the daylight after the dark of the mine, and saw his rescuer. Donna.

She hovered above the shaft, the sparkles on her costume twinkling in the daylight. Her expression was grim, but she swung the rope gently, and he dropped to the ground, landing lightly.

"You frightened Alfred," she told him.

"I frightened myself," he replied. This wasn't boding well for the conversation he knew they had to have. First, though, he had to deal with his protective gear.

Carefully, he stripped it off, making sure none of the dust particles fell into his hair or onto exposed skin. Finally, he peeled the liquid latex off his face, working his jaw just because he could. Then he took off his mask and threw it, along with everything else, into a disposal bag.

Donna didn't approach him during the process, but that might have been due to the fact he'd been coated head to toe in a fine, lethal dust. He liked that explanation better than the alternative -- she didn't want to touch him.

"You are all right, aren't you?" There it was, the glimmer of caring he'd hoped to hear in her voice.

He dropped the bag containing the protective gear down the ventilation shaft, then sent a couple explosive charges after it. Deep in the mine, he heard the bass booming that told him the mutated asbestos, and creatures, were now buried. The rocks around them rattled. He felt the pressure wave vibrate up through his boots. "Physically, I'm fine, thanks."

Her expression shifted through concern and compassion, but settled in a sort of frustration. "You need to go home and sleep, I think."

Nightwing couldn't argue that. He needed sleep. But he shook his head. "There's something we need to talk about. Something important."

"I know. And I do agree we should talk, but, do we need to do it now? I'm already late, way late."

"Late? For what?" She was in a hurry. She wanted to get away from him. That was the sense he was getting from her that he hadn't recognized.

"To meet Kyle. You remember him, I think. I saw him after I left your place, actually and--" She hesitated as if unwilling to continue. "Dick, I really need to know where the vial is."

"It's safe, I promise. Not at the cave," he added, as he affixed a spare mask in place. Donna knew his identity, but there was no telling when someone else might wander by. "I know you don't want Bruce to know about it, and I didn't tell him."

"I trust you, that's not the issue." But, she'd had brief doubts. Her face told him that. "I need it now, that's all. I told Kyle I'd meet him over an hour ago in New York and give it to him. I figured it out, Dick. He has to be the right one."

His heart shattered like crystal dropped on concrete from ten stories up. "I see." He swallowed, tried to sound normal. He couldn't even fake being happy for her.

He'd thought maybe she was paying enough attention to catch what he wasn't trying to hide. But she continued as if oblivious, "So, just tell me where it is, and I'll go get it."

"I don't actually know where it is," he said, then held up a hand to cut off what looked to be an angry tirade. If the fact she ignored his devastation didn't answer where their relationship was, nothing would, and he wasn't that stupid. "I can have it here in a couple of minutes, but before I do, I have to tell you something. I think Deathstroke is looking for you."

"He knows about the vial, doesn't he?"

"You don't sound surprised." When she shook her head, Nightwing continued, "After you left, a couple of two-bit thugs broke into my apartment. I think Blockbuster sent them to get the vial. I disabled them and got out of there with the vial."

"Bruce called to warn me." She paced the dead ground, nervously. "So, we have Blockbuster and Deathstroke after it now. That's all the more reason to get it to Kyle as quickly as possible. The sooner it's used up, the better."

"Not Blockbuster." Nightwing paused, wishing he didn't have to face what he'd done right now. "He's dead."

"Dead?" Donna turned wide eyes on him. Then, "Oh. Deathstroke?"

"Not exactly."

"Then how?" Her eyes widened as she worked it all the way through. All he could think was, _please don't hug me, please not now when you're leaving me_. "Oh, god, Dick." Then, she did reach for him. It was compassion, sympathy, comfort. Not love. She didn't love him that way. She wanted to share her life with a guy who hadn't cared enough to even pretend to be faithful.

"It's fine," he said, managing a stony voice and stance as she embraced his shoulders briefly. He didn't touch her in return. "That's not all."

"I don't believe you. It can't possibly be fine. Dick, talk to me."

He wanted to -- he wanted to believe she would listen and help heal that particular hurt. Right now, he couldn't. Instead, he continued with facts. "I came to this mine because I got a sample from it that was -- well, mutated. Deadlier than normal." He paused, forced the memory of the black hole of creepiness back. "What I found down there is best destroyed. But there was something--" He took a breath. "A silver arrow with a three-inch head. It was covered in the same kind of protogeometric designs as your vial."

"Fancy, but, you're trying to tell me it's more than decorative, aren't you?"

"It's what killed Blockbuster." He watched that register. "And it wasn't -- I swiped at his knee, intending to disable him so I could get away. I didn't want to kill him. But, he … disintegrated."

"Dis -- are you saying it's magic?" She shivered visibly. "Where is this arrow now?"

"Deathstroke has it." He noted her lack of surprise and continued, "But he's willing to trade it for the vial."

"You don't expect me to give it to him, do you?"

"I expect you to trust me to deal with it." He winced internally at the sharpness of his tone even as he said the words. But they were true and he wouldn't take them back.

Her brow furrowed, and for a moment he thought she'd shout at him, even strike him. But she just nodded. "Of course you do. Everyone follows your orders. And the truth is, I do trust you. But, I promised it to Kyle and I won't go back on my word. I need to take it to him. I need you to give it to me now."

He didn't like that answer, but it wasn't his decision to make. He knew he should argue with her. He could appeal to her sense of responsibility. Slade with that arrow was a dangerous combination. But, he didn't have the energy for it. Better that the vial episode be done, and he get on to healing the wound of losing her forever. He'd figure out something else with Slade.

"All right, Donna." He curled his tongue and let out a sharp, two-toned whistle. He counted to ten and repeated the whistle. Donna stared at him, clearly wondering if he'd left his wits down in the mine.

A minute passed, then two. Then he heard it, a yipping coming from the trees along the horizon. He turned and scanned the sky. He barely had time to notice the flash of red before a white, furry body slammed into his chest and he landed hard on his back. A warm, wet tongue slathered his face in happy licks.

"It's… a dog… that flies."

Nightwing laughed and scratched Krypto's ears. Then, "Good boy. Off."

Krypto stepped off him, but his tail was still wagging hard enough to stir up the dust around them.

"Sit," Nightwing ordered as he wiped his face with one arm. Krypto sat. Nightwing reached down to rub the dog's head. "I'm short on treats, but you'll get a steak as soon as I can get one."

He glanced up at Donna. "I told you the vial was safe."

"Please tell me you didn't feed my ambrosia to a dog."

Nightwing stared at her. Then he remembered she probably hadn't met Krypto before. Very few people outside the Justice League had. "No, Donna. This is Krypto. Superman's dog. From Krypton. Same powers Superman has."

Her mouth formed a small 'oh'. "And he's been guarding the vial?"

"Would you want to try to take it from him?"

She looked at the dog, bent down as if to remove the vial from his collar. Krypto curled his lip in warning, let out a low growl, and then blasted a dead tree behind her with his heat vision. Donna straightened. "Maybe you should do it."

Nightwing removed the vial from Krypto's collar, scratched his ears again. "Good boy, Krypto."

He held out the vial to Donna, willing her to change her mind, to trust him, to do anything but take it to Kyle.

Her touch lingered a second as she took it from him, and she searched his face a moment before saying, "This time you need to trust me to handle things."

Then she flew off toward New York.

He looked down at Krypto. "It would be easier to trust her if she weren't promising forever to some other guy."

-X-

Donna glanced over her shoulder as she gained altitude. Dick's Nightwing costume faded into the landscape surrounding the mine, but Krypto's white fur gleamed in the midday sun. They appeared to be playing, and Donna thought that might be Dick's method of distracting himself from what had happened in the mine.

She hated leaving him. He'd killed a man, unintentionally and in self defense, but how clearly would Dick see those factors? She should stay and make him talk to her, as she had in the past. But, he'd thrown up that wall between them when she left his apartment this morning, and again just now. She hated that barrier, didn't understand it, and was afraid to explore it too deeply.

Besides, she had to talk to Kyle. She'd promised and already made him wait. However, that situation made her a little queasy as well. She assumed that was a reaction to the new complication. Deathstroke's offer to exchange the vial for the deadly weapon he'd stolen changed the whole situation.

Letting Kyle drink the ambrosia now and replacing it with something of similar texture occurred to her first. She turned the idea over in her mind, examining it from different angles. It made sense -- until she realized that she didn't know whether Deathstroke had figured out what was in the vial. Blockbuster had seen part of her conversation with Dick from last night. She had no idea how much, so she had to assume all the important details were exposed, and that Deathstroke knew exactly what was in the vial.

In that case, if Dick took him a fake ambrosia, Dick would be in grave danger. Deathstroke wouldn't hesitate to kill him. So she discarded that idea.

Much as she disliked it, she'd have to tell Kyle he needed to wait to take the ambrosia until after Dick's confrontation with Deathstroke. But how? After Batman's call earlier, speed had seemed necessary, even beneficial. Things had changed. Surely Kyle would understand that.

Realization slammed into her. She'd forgotten to call him to tell him she'd be late. Getting Dick out of the mine took priority. Kyle would understand, but she should call. She reached into the bag slung diagonally across her body and pulled out her cell phone to call him.

The call didn't go through and she frowned when she read the display. Out of area.

She tried calling twice more before she arrived in New York, with the same result. A knot of concern grew in her stomach. Had he been called out on some emergency? What if he were gone for weeks, as could happen with some missions? She supposed she'd have to go ahead with her plan to trust the vial to Dick long enough to bring down Deathstroke. But, not discussing important choices hardly seemed the right way to start a fresh chapter in her relationship with Kyle.

Donna reached the city and found a fire escape in a not too dingy alley to change to her street clothes. It was getting harder and harder to find out of the way places these days. Her dress was looking worse for wear after being stuffed in her bag so often, but she didn't want to make herself even later by going to her apartment for something new.

She hurried into the museum, frustrated by the additional security measures, and all too aware of well-dressed docents and patrons eyeing her dress. It did look as rumpled as she'd feared. She could only hope none of her fashion photography clients saw her like this.

The Temple of Dendur stood in the Sackler Wing of the Met, impressive even in the large space. The deities to whom it was dedicated were not her own, but still Donna paused a moment in silent acknowledgment of their power before glancing around for Kyle.

She didn't see him after a survey of the room, but to be certain she hadn't missed him, she climbed the steps into the small temple and looked for him there. Had he gotten disgusted and left? She was more than an hour late, so she could hardly blame him if he had. Still, immortality was worth waiting around for, wasn't it?

And he should've called. Of course, she should have as well.

Disappointment seeped through her, and she turned to leave. Then she saw him striding into the Sackler Wing. He looked almost as out of place in his T-shirt and jeans as she did in her rumpled dress, but it didn't seem to bother him as much as it bothered her.

Of course not, she thought. He's a guy.

Donna crossed the gallery to meet him, stretched up to kiss him lightly. He caught her shoulders, and turned the kiss into a mutual bussing of cheeks. Before she could speak, he said, "I don't want it."

Her throat constricted and for a moment she felt an overwhelming urge to run. If he hadn't been holding her, she might have tried. Perhaps her mind did run because she felt as if she were observing herself from a greater and greater distance. Interesting, she thought, how mortification moved through one's body -- first ringing the ears, then flushing the cheeks, tightening the muscles in the shoulders, and finally making one's stomach feel like it was boiling. Anger and sorrow felt very different. This was acute embarrassment.

At last, she blurted out, "Why?"

"Don't think I'm not honored that you asked." Kyle guided her to a corner of the room, away from the patrons examining the temple. "And I did think about it a lot. Heck, I even went all the way to the moon so I could be completely alone and think."

Her legs moved smoothly, she noted, no wooden sensation. She sat gracefully. That was something, she supposed.

"I thought about all the gosh-wow possibilities," Kyle continued. "And those are pretty amazing. But that only lasted a little while. Then I started looking at the downsides. And for me, those outweighed the cool stuff."

Was I ever part of the cool stuff, she wondered. But, she didn't ask aloud. She could read the answer on his face. His thoughts weren't focused on her at all.

Kyle sighed. "Explaining it by example is probably best." He looked away for a moment, toward the temple, then back to her. "When my girlfriend, Alex, died, I was lost. There's no other word for it. I lost a part of myself. I've never hurt so much before and I hope never to hurt that way again. Accepting your gift means opening myself to that hurt, again and again, willingly. I'm not strong enough to do that, Donna."

"It's good you thought about it beforehand," she told him. And she meant that. "I wonder if I would have chosen immortality if I'd had another option. Losing everyone I care about over and over is going to be hard."

"Maybe you should give it to the person you can't bear to live without."

"Now you sound like Nightwing." She made herself smile. His expression told her he would have chosen his first love, Alex. He always would. Donna realized he'd never truly loved her, never could. It wasn't his fault. She was coming to believe it wasn't her fault, either. It just was.

Then why had the gods designed their gifts for Kyle? Why choose for her a man for whom she could never make immortality less lonely? She wasn't such a bad person. Why did they want to hurt her?

Kyle grinned back. "I'm not sure that's supposed to be a compliment or not, but I'll take it as one."

"In context, it is." Her calmness surprised her. Shouldn't she be angry, hurt, frustrated? Shouldn't she feel more? The initial embarrassment had passed, leaving her strangely confused, but not in pain. Not numb, either, she realized.

Some part of her had known Kyle didn't love her. And, really, she didn't love him either. He'd been a desperate grab for happiness after Terry. She liked him, as he liked her. They could be friends. But, there was nothing more.

"You're okay with this?" he asked, uncertain. "We're okay?"

"We are," she could tell him honestly. "Probably more okay than we would have been a hundred years from now."

That made him laugh out loud and draw stares from patrons wishing to experience the temple in contemplative quiet, though most of them, Donna thought, had no idea which goddess the temple was dedicated to.

"Do you think Egyptians didn't laugh?" Kyle asked one elderly woman who glared at them with a distinctly disapproving air. Donna bit her cheek to keep from laughing harder. If they could laugh together, they'd be okay.

Donna linked her arm through his. "Come on. I'll let you buy me lunch."

-X-

"Lord Night Robin!" The Court Jester rolls in, a giant green armadillo wearing a tabard and carrying a longsword. "A messenger."

"I'm Dick," I say firmly. The dome encircling the castle reveals a vast starfield decorated by too-near-for-comfort gas giants and a spiraling black hole. A part of my mind reasons, "This cannot be real." But, mostly I know this is my life a thousand years in the future, when I've finally been rejected by everyone.

"Sir, the messenger. We haven't had one in ages."

"Just Dick." No one but Gar for company and he refuses to be familiar.

"Shall I plan a wedding? I did a marvelous wedding once. Do you remember?"

"A wedding for a messenger? I don't think so."

The armadillo transforms into a sulking frog. Nothing can frown quite like frog. "Sir, we never have parties anymore."

"Send the messenger in," I order. Get that over with, and then maybe Gar will leave me alone. Maybe that will be a good thing.

"Yes, Sir!" The frog becomes a kangaroo and bounds out the door. A moment later, he returns as a fox being chased by a white dog in a red cape. Gar should be grateful Krypto can tell the difference between him and a real fox.

I scratch Krypto's ears when he gets close enough and the super-dog licks my face. At least I won't have to shave today. I remove the message from the dog's collar.

Dear Dick,

I hate to have to send this, but Krypto won't be able to visit anymore. I have need of him on New Krypton, and it's likely to be a long time before either of us can break away for a visit.

Kal-El

Of course. Who else but Clark would send his dog to say goodbye in his place?

At least he says goodbye. No one else bothered. They all left without a word, without a look. I idly reach out to scratch the dog again only to find Krypto has vanished. "Why couldn't I have super speed, too?"

"Because you weren't supposed to have the magic potion to start with," Gar explains happily. "It was for a real prince, not a fake one."

"Takes a fake prince to have a fake jester," I snap back, but my heart really isn't in it. I turn to look out the massive windows over my asbestos farm. The toxic material is the only thing that grows here, and it grows with a vengeance. The fibrous stuff crawls over land and up walls, and it's a massive chore keeping the windows uncovered so I can look outside.

"At least fake jesters never ruin princesses' lives," Gar replies. With that, he turns into a green bat and flies away. And I really am alone.

Alone forever with nothing but mutant asbestos and the knowledge I ruined Donna's one chance for happiness. My wrist communicator buzzes.

"Donna?" I still love her, and some days I delude myself into thinking she loves me, too.

"Hey." Her voice is a balm to my soul, the ease to my aching loneliness. "I need you. Can you come over?"

"You need me?" The thought makes me happier than I have any right to be.

"Yes. My apartment was broken into."

Dick snapped to full awareness. Trust a dream to incorporate reality somehow. "Broken into?"

"Right. I'm not sure who did it, but it makes sense that it was either Deathstroke or some of Blockbuster's men." She paused. "Before I clean it up, I thought you might want to come over and do that detective thing you do so well."

"I'll be there as soon as I can."


	6. Chapter 6

We still don't own them, and hope they're still enjoying the little adventure we borrowed them for.

-X- -X- -X- -X- -X-

The mood around Rabe Memorial Hospital's emergency waiting room had grown more cheerful, Mouse thought. She was honest enough to admit that her feeling had more to do with the arrival of an orthopedic specialist from Gotham than with any objective change in the room itself. Sure, the howling stab victim had been wheeled off to surgery and a group of frat boys now teased each other boisterously in one corner of the waiting room while their friend was treated for excess intoxication. But, those changes in irritation were minimal and surface only.

Mouse's growing joy came from a deeper place. Giz might still be in surgery, but the specialist, Doctor Orton, had spoken with her before the operation began. He'd explained what happened in medical detail that Mouse couldn't follow, but one phrase remained in her mind and gave her hope. He'd said, "We can fix all that."

She hadn't heard any of the details concerning how he'd perform this miracle. His words echoed in her mind, "We can fix all that." She'd gladly given permission for the surgery, and now could only sit, her closed laptop resting on her thighs under hands clasped almost as if in prayer. Now, finally, knowing that Giz would be okay, she could close her eyes and relax. There was nothing to do but wait. However long it took.

"Mouse, is it?"

The voice was male, businesslike but not abrupt, and Mouse's eyes flew open to see a trim, well-dressed, white-haired man with a patch over his right eye. The details registered and her mind supplied the name. "Deathstroke."

"May I join you?" He didn't wait for an answer, of course, simply sat in the plastic chair next to her. An orderly pushing a gurney passed by, then a couple of nurses heading for a break. No one glanced at her or the man beside her. Where else but Bludhaven could the world's deadliest mercenary chatting with the world's third best hacker simply be business as usual?

"How is Giz?" The question surprised Mouse, and it must've shown on her face, because he smiled. "Unlike your former client, I don't waste valuable resources in a fit of pique."

"He'll be okay, eventually," Mouse said. "But it's going to be a long surgery and a long recovery."

"If there's anything you need to help his recovery, do let me know."

Every alarm Mouse knew she had, and a few new ones, blared in her mind. People like Deathstroke, the Terminator, didn't make such offers out of the kindness of their hearts. "What do you want in exchange?"

Approval glinted in his single good eye, and he reached into the inside pocket of his sport coat to withdraw a folded sheet of paper. "Everything you gave Desmond about this."

Mouse wasn't too surprised when the paper revealed a screenshot image of the vial -- that damned vial -- in the woman's hand.

"I'll expect a discount from your usual fee," Deathstroke continued, "since you've already done the work and are only giving me a copy."

"Mr. Desmond --" Mouse began, then stopped. Did she owe Desmond a single courtesy after what he did to Giz? More importantly, if Deathstroke were going after Blockbuster, did she want to get caught between the two? Desmond was a dirty nuke. Deathstroke was an exquisitely placed shaped charge.

"--has no more interest in this object." Deathstroke finished her sentence smoothly. "I promise, he won't bother you about this."

From anyone else, the promise would've been laughable, meaningless. Strangely, though, Mouse believed him. Still -- "Your promise is your price."

"Pardon?"

"You said you want a discount. This is as cheap as it gets. Your promise is your price. If Desmond, or anyone connected with him, ever comes after me and Giz for what I'm giving you about the vial, you handle the problem at no charge."

"You have my word, provided that you don't show anyone else this information and you have no further involvement with the vial."

Mouse controlled the urge to laugh. The last thing she wanted was to get near Desmond or his vial again. "I'll show you what I have right now and then transmit a copy to whatever address you give me. Then I'm going to destroy it. We're getting out of this business."

"Then we have an understanding."

"There isn't much." She reached into a pocket and offered him her ear buds. Moments later, she'd opened her laptop and played the clip she'd snatched from Oracle's database.

She hadn't expected him to react to what he saw, but satisfaction flickered across his face as he returned her ear buds. "I have no need of a copy, thank you. I do have need of one other thing."

Mouse paused as she was about to delete the archived copy of the video clip. "I said we're getting out of this business."

"Then consider my payment for this as seed money for your retirement." Deathstroke smiled at her. Mouse supposed that smile would've been charming if she hadn't known he could kill her where she sat without any of the patients or staff being the wiser.

"What do you need?" Was she kidding herself? Would she ever be able to quit the business?

"Everything you can find on this." He withdrew his PDA and adjusted it, then held it out for her, adding, "You can scroll through the images."

Mouse took the PDA and swallowed when she saw the image of an arrow, apparently silver, laid beside a meter stick. Other photos were close-ups of the point and the nock, even of the shaft itself, which surprised her until she saw the designs etched into it.

"How soon do you need it?" she asked.

"Today."

Of course. It was always "today," never "when you feel you have everything," or even, "next week is fine, no hurry." Mouse concealed a sigh. At least the search would keep her occupied while Giz was in surgery. And, seeing that arrow made her wonder if this wasn't exactly what she and Oracle were looking for together. It really wouldn't hurt for Deathstroke to pay her for collecting information she already needed, would it?

"Okay. This one thing. But, we're done after today," she said. "You can bring me coffee, extra sugar, no cream. And I'll expect to see half the standard fee in the Cayman Islands account before I start work."

-X-

Donna tried to stay out of Dick's way as he surveyed her apartment for clues. He'd told her he was finished in the bedroom, so she was allowed to tidy up in there, but she hadn't begun that task yet. Instead, she lingered in the doorway, remembering another time when she'd had to call him for the same reason. Then, the damage had been extensive -- shattered statuary and dishes, torn sheets. This was merely toppled books, rifled drawers.

"What does it say that the burglars didn't break anything?"

"Any number of things," Dick answered, his voice echoing from the bathroom. "Maybe that they like your taste in antiques. But I'm leaning toward thinking that they knew what they were looking for and searched specifically for that."

"Presumably the vial." She had changed to a pair of black trousers and a shirt. After today, she thought she might throw out all her skirts. She slipped her hand into the front trouser pocket and squeezed the vial. She hadn't yet told Dick about her conversation with Kyle. He'd arrived in his all-business mode and set right to work. She didn't want the discussion of 'I was wrong' to happen while his mind was elsewhere.

"Presumably." Dick came out of the bathroom and frowned at the overturned items. "This kind of toss isn't Deathstroke's normal style, but everything else is clean and thorough."

"Could he be trying to throw us off?" she asked.

Dick moved in that slightly stiff, too-precise gait that usually meant he was tired, or aching, or was avoiding some topic of conversation. Donna wondered which explanation applied now.

Dick glanced up when she spoke. "Could be, if he came here before I met him in the mine. Which means he probably visited my apartment, too. But he doesn't have the vial, and never will have it, since you gave it to Kyle."

"About that … " she paused. Why was this hard? She'd come to terms with Kyle's rejection over lunch. The more he'd talked, in fact, the more convinced she'd become that she'd read the gods' hints wrong. Kyle wasn't their choice. She had yet to figure out who was. "I still have it."

There was the briefest hesitation, and the purposefully neutral tone he'd been using with her cracked when he said, "I'm sorry."

"I'm not sure I am." And with that, the rest of the story spilled out. She told Dick why she'd believed Kyle was the right choice, and explained the moment when she realized he didn't, and wouldn't ever, love her. Finally, she finished with, "He didn't want to spend eternity with me. Maybe no one does."

"Hey." Dick crossed the room and took her in his arms, holding her as he had so often before -- when her marriage had ended, at her son's funeral -- and she sank into his strength. "That's a big leap, from 'Kyle doesn't want eternity' to 'no one does.' Not like you."

She felt stronger here, leaning against his chest. "He was an easy answer. Everything just got more difficult when he said no."

"Easy answers aren't usually the right ones." He'd rested his head against hers, and she could feel the movement of his jaw when he spoke. "I'm just glad you realized it before you made a forever mistake."

"Maybe that's why I'm feeling low. I didn't save myself. Kyle was smart enough to know we weren't right together. But, the choice has to be mine and I'm not sure I know myself well enough to make it. I've not had great luck with relationships, in case you haven't noticed."

"That makes two of us." He sounded rueful. "Want to talk about it?"

"Yeah. I guess. I'll start." She looked up at him and read relief on his face. "When I came from Themyscira the only thing I wanted to do was prove myself as good as the boys, if not superior. I had no idea how fascinating you guys would turn out to be."

Dick chuckled. "What, you were expecting a bunch of guys you could knock over with a feather?"

"With my fist. And for the most part, I can." She lightly tapped his arm. "But, my stomach never fluttered before I looked in a guy's eyes. I never felt that shaky, hard to stand up feeling before I came here."

"It's potent," he agreed. "Makes you forget good sense."

"Sometimes." She rested her head back on his chest, listened to the beat of his heart. "But, it also teaches you that there's this whole new way to succeed or fail. I remember how envious I was of Kory. She didn't even understand a comic routine, but she got how the thing between men and women worked in a way I don't think I ever understood."

"She got part of how it worked. Not all of it."

"She did better than I did. After all, I picked Terry and she--" Her voice trailed off as she remembered where they'd been only a few hours ago. Naked. In his bed. Finishing her sentence with "she picked you" suddenly seemed unwise.

His hand came up to cup her chin. He lifted her face so that he could look in her eyes. She'd seen that intensity before, but never seen it directed toward her. And then he bent his head toward hers.

He had the perfect mouth for kissing. Donna couldn't resist it. She doubted many women could. And when their lips did meet she felt as if she were newly alive. Her fingers were more sensitive to the texture of his shirt and to the muscles beneath. She smelled the soap he'd used in his shower. She heard a low sound, a moan, and belatedly realized it was her own.

"Donna." Her name was a caress, and he played his lips over hers, teasing, before deepening the kiss once again. The hand at her chin traced her jaw to her earlobe, then cupped her head, holding her in place, possessive.

She wanted to let go, perhaps more than she ever had wanted to in the past. She wasn't concerned with showing him a playful girl or an in-charge woman. She wasn't worried about where they would go or what they would become. In that moment, she wanted only the next moment, and the one after that. This. Here. Now. Eternity be damned to Hades. And that was the danger.

A chill splash of fear made her push away from him. "We know how bad an idea this is."

He didn't let his hand fall away from her head. "We know how good an idea it is. Or can you tell me you don't wonder? That you won't look at me every day and wonder? Because I know I look at you, and I already wonder."

His words made her tremble, but the look he gave her made her squeeze her thighs together and gasp for breath. "It's hard not to wonder."

"I don't want to wonder. I want to know." Now he did let go of her head, but only to trace her cheek, her nose, her lips. "I want to know what it's like to be with you."

She wanted to suck the thumb that brushed her lips, but resisted, not to discourage but to make him chase just a little more. There was something irresistible about the desire in his eyes, something she'd never seen in any man's gaze before. There was the slightest quiver in his touch, as if he could barely contain himself, and she wanted to test that, too. It wasn't kind of her, but she couldn't help herself. "Tell me. Tell me what you want to be with me."

He'd been standing still, but now his whole being seemed to pause, unguarded. The walls he'd erected earlier crumbled, and Donna sensed she could move as close to him as she chose in this moment. His only movement was the thumb lightly brushing her lower lip, his gaze locked on hers. "A friend, a companion, a lover. Whatever you'll let me be."

"A lover. I like that word." She leaned up. She kissed his mouth. He allowed the kiss to be light, waiting for her choice. "I don't want to wonder."

He released the breath she hadn't realized he'd held, and a smile she'd never seen before spread across his face. Then he cupped her face in both hands and kissed her again. This time, it was as though he wanted to melt her, when before she'd melted of her own accord.

Her knees went weak. She clutched him. And instantly worried she'd crush his ribs. "We have to make sure I don't hurt you. I don't want to ever hurt you." She meant that more than just physically. She wanted this time together to be good. She never wanted him to regret it.

"What would make you comfortable?" That was Dick, more concerned for her than for himself. Though how he managed to sound so reasonable when he was nibbling at her earlobe was just one more mystery about him.

"I--" Gods, his teeth felt interesting "--lost control before. I couldn't think. I just wanted to feel you on top of me, pressing me down. Maybe I shouldn't be allowed to touch you." She couldn't hold back the thought, or the words, but then, with him, she'd never had to.

"Well, that's right out," he said. "Because I want to feel you undress me."

He made her laugh, and she loved him for it. The laughter chased away her fear.

"Is that so?" Before he could answer she fisted her hands in the back of his shirt and tore it open, straight up the back. "Like that?"

"God, yes." There was laughter in his eyes. "But I do need the jeans if I'm to leave here with any dignity."

"I'll buy you new ones." The thought of stripping him completely that way was heady, uncontrolled, a new Donna. "But, when we get to the place I lose my mind, I want you to hold my hands. Don't let me hurt you."

He shrugged out of the remains of his T-shirt. "I didn't know you were into bondage, but okay."

"I don't know if I am. I think I'm becoming someone new." _Someone who could keep a man_, but that thought terrified her too much to pursue it. "I want to find her with you."

"Good thing I'm a detective." And then he grinned wickedly, and before she realized his intent, ripped her shirt open down the front.

"We'll have to discuss it." She loved that they could laugh and be erotic at the same time. "But not now. Right now, I want to do something else with your mouth."

-X-

Dick knew Donna only wanted him today. But, he wouldn't complain. If he was good enough today, she'd want him tomorrow, and enough tomorrows added up to forever.

To judge by her soft moans and cries as he explored her body, he was well on his way to good enough. She wasn't touching him back, much, because she was still afraid of hurting him, but he savored every touch and caress she offered him. He'd remember them long after today.

She'd still hesitated to touch his still-bruised shoulder, but as they found their way to the bed he'd encouraged her to play and explore. "Only until I lose my mind," she'd reminded him. He laughed and told her that it was good she had so much faith in him, that she'd lose her mind before he lost his.

He played his tongue down her neck and over the swell of her shoulder. Their clothing had long ago found its way to the floor, but he was in no hurry to move down her body. He'd always found the less overt parts of a woman sexy -- her shoulders, her wrists, and the points of her hips, the backs of her knees where the skin was exceptionally soft and a kiss was guaranteed to produce a giggle. With Donna he wanted to take longer than normal. He'd been in a hurry the last time and he'd forgotten to memorize her. He hadn't known then that he might need to.

Now, while he hoped for more, he knew to savor, to etch every moment into his memory.

She shivered when he trailed his tongue down her sternum, the closest he'd come to her breasts. A moan followed when he scraped his teeth over the indentation of her waist and down to her hip bone. Her hands tangled in his hair and he turned his head to lick the inside of her wrist.

"I want you." It was an echo of what she'd said before, and he smiled as he turned his attention back to her lower body, moving down her thigh to her knee.

"I want you," he whispered back. He couldn't say he loved her, not now, but he could try to show her by how he touched her.

Fingers first, massaging her calf, then her thigh. He kissed the inside of her knee and enjoyed how her body arched toward him. It was a silent request as potent as her verbal one. A kiss to her inner thigh allowed him to feel the pulse under her skin.

"Yes," she encouraged. He told her, "In time."

She made a noise that might've been a scream of frustration and he nipped at her in response. Then down again, tickling her knees and stroking her calves. She had the most amazing legs -- firm and muscular, but all female and soft at the same time. He trailed one finger up the sole of her foot.

Her toes flexed. He wanted to learn all those small responses, but that might take more time than she'd give him. She caught his hair in one hand. Briefly, he felt her fingernails against his scalp. But, she released him all too quickly. "Please, Dick, hold me down. I'm afraid."

He moved up her body, pressed his against hers. "Don't be afraid, Donna. I'm not."

He kissed her and shifted position so that he nudged against her opening. He'd put the condom on before he'd begun his exploration of her body, just to be prepared for whenever she might lose her mind, and now he teased her there while he twined his fingers with hers and pressed her hands down into the pillow on either side of her head.

She kept her eyes open, he noticed, staring at him directly as if she too were committing this to memory. Her fingers flexed around his and she pushed her body up against his, insistent and eager. He loved that.

And then he was inside her, the moment of entry lost in the haze of sensation that was Donna. Her scent of sea and grass, her taste of honey, her skin like velvet -- how could he not lose himself in her?

When her legs embraced him, he moved against her, slowly, savoring each thrust as if it might be the last. His gaze locked with hers, and he heard her moan, more a purr. Yes. This moment was the one he wanted to last forever, the one he would remember.

She moved against him, harder than any other woman he remembered. Her roughness encouraged him, forced him to growl and thrust. Her body squeezed him, so tight, so good. His thoughts narrowed to the sweet, wet embrace of her body, the rub of her skin, the sharp, eager cries in his ears.

Faster, harder, because she liked it that way. Still he had to hold back, had to make sure she enjoyed it, so there would be a tomorrow and a tomorrow, and enough tomorrows to build a forever. His shoulders bunched with the strain, and he bent to bite at her collarbone.

"Dick, please," she begged. He shifted forward a little so he could pleasure her better, and he felt her first shudder, then the next. Her hands flexed in his. Her nails bit. He didn't mind. Her body was clutching his, and he was close, so close. The pressure made his scalp tighten, his skin tingle. He clenched his teeth. Holding, holding, holding, until she broke against him in a shivering, arching release.

His own release was only a thrust away, and he caught her mouth with his as his body tensed. For several seconds, he was frozen with pleasure, the sensations flooding through him beneath rigid muscles. He heard ragged breaths, realized they were his own, and released one hand to pull her closer and bury his face against her. "Donna."

He was still tingling as she stroked his back with her free hand. Yet, his mind had already moved forward. Would she tell him her curiosity was satisfied? Would she look at him with the same gaze he'd seen before, the gaze that said "I'm leaving" without words? If she did would he be stoic and simply nod, pretend this was all he'd wanted? Or would he embarrass himself by begging? In those first moments after climax he wasn't at all sure. He lay in her arms quiet and waiting for her breathing to calm and her heartbeat to steady.

"Dick?"

"What is it?" He turned to look at her face to face. Maybe he hoped that would make rejection harder for her. Or, maybe he just wanted to see her every second he could.

"I'm going to let you take the vial to Deathstroke."

Half a dozen replies occurred to him in as many seconds. None of them were appropriate for the trust she'd just given him.

"I won't let you down," he said finally.


	7. Chapter 7

Still not ours. Still just playing.

-X- -X- -X- -X- -X-

Diana was growing frustrated.

She'd questioned the priestess Penelope, the oracle Menalippe, the historian Mnemosyne, and Philippus, the captain of the guard. Everyone had a different opinion on what could have killed their sisters. Philippus was convinced some super-powered male from the outside was skulking about and if they only marshaled enough guards, the problem would be solved. Penelope said it was the will of the gods that some Amazons die, which Diana found particularly unhelpful in light of her recent sojourn on Olympus. Mnemosyne suggested both poison and some sort of magic.

Menalippe would speak to Diana only in hushed tones, her eyes frequently darting to the side as if afraid someone would overhear. And Diana hoped for some real clue at last. But the oracle only whispered, "I know something isn't right. My sight is blinded on these murders."

"No more blinded than mine," Diana muttered. She meant her truth sense. Every one of the women believed what they were saying absolutely, but clearly their beliefs were based on assumptions, and in some cases prejudices, not facts. And facts, clues, were what Diana needed to solve this puzzle. Unfortunately, she didn't know how to find any. What good was having the ability to sense truth when one didn't know the questions to ask?

Where was Batman when she needed him?

Suspicion led her to probe Doom's Doorway, over the strangled protests of the guards and under the withering eye of the high priestess. The Doorway was the one truly malevolent thing in her homeland. It seemed natural to consider it the source of the murders. But the portal appeared as it always had. The guards surrounding it insisted they had not left their posts.

"So, no one saw anything come out of there?" she asked Aella, the guard who had escorted her down here.

"No, Princess -- at least none who survived." The woman shifted uncomfortably. "The first to die was guarding the gate, however. Since then, we tripled the guard."

A lack of witnesses wouldn't stop Batman -- but she wasn't Batman, and right now, she couldn't even contact him because she was no longer Wonder Woman with the ability to come and go as she pleased. She couldn't allow her frustrated scowl to show. She needed to be in command of the situation, a Princess, through and through.

"And none of those guards could have been persuaded to allow someone to pass, perhaps open the Doorway?"

Diana felt more than saw Aella's start of surprise. "Open it? Not I, Princess. Not ever."

That was truth. However, not I was not the same as no one. Would she have to question every guard who watched the portal? And if she proceeded with so little subtlety would she merely alert the killer she was near?

"Aella, is there --"

The guard had looked away suddenly, and pointed. "There is something approaching from the West, in the air. Look, Princess."

Diana scanned the sky, and then she saw it -- a flicker of light glinting off something metallic. She frowned. This was Themyscira, not Boston or New York, and airplanes weren't a common sight. A moment later she was airborne.

She relaxed when she recognized the device given to her by the Lansinarians, now in the form of a modern fighter jet. She smiled at her mother, Hippolyta, though the transparent structure. The queen waved back.

Moments later Diana touched down beside the jet on the field outside the palace. Then she was embracing her mother.

"Are you visiting from Olympus, Diana?"

"No, I renounced my godhood." Her mother's shock was easy to read, and Diana explained about her sacrifice and the vial. "I'm responsible, in some way, for everything Donna suffered. This is my way of making it up to her."

"Perhaps this is the reason for the dreams I've had of late," Hippolyta said.

"Dreams?" Diana could see Philippus and others waiting to greet her mother, but Hippolyta gave a slight shake of her head, and the other women fell back. Wonder Woman didn't need protection. She was protection.

"Aye." Her mother turned toward the palace, and Diana fell into step with her. "For the past week, every night I've had dreams, each more unsettling than the last. I woke from the one last night with the certainty that I had to return home."

"It is good that you've returned," Diana said as they climbed the palace steps. "There have been deaths."

"Tell me while I wash away the stink of Patriarch's World."

While her mother bathed, Diana told her mother of the murders and of her attempts at solving the mystery. She'd never felt quite so incompetent. And, as she spoke she realized the only solution to their problem. "I am a warrior, not a detective. The truth of this matter eludes me."

"Together we will find the truth."

"No, Mother, we won't." She seldom spoke so firmly to the queen, but they were alone, and this was important. "The priestesses are content to pray for help, though I know the gods have not noticed this trouble. And the others are lost. They need your leadership. And I need to be Wonder Woman again so that I can return to the outside world and bring us back the help we need."

"What help do you think we need, daughter?"

"Batman." Diana allowed the simple answer to stand. Her mother clearly understood from that one word. Bruce would respond better to Diana's plea since he had known her longer, trusted her more.

Sadness lined her mother's face, but only for a moment. The queen understood duty and responsibility all too well. "Very well."

-X-

It was all Barbara could do not to call out the Justice League, the Titans, and the entire Green Lantern Corps when she and Mouse finished talking. That she had the most powerful people on the planet on speed-dial helped counter her instinctive panic. But, responsibly, she would not call any of them until she'd compiled and verified all the data. She was the Oracle. She would do her job correctly even though the preliminary conclusions made her skin crawl.

Doing the job correctly meant following up on the information she and Mouse had found with a call to Dick.

He wasn't in his apartment in Bludhaven, and the tracker in his Nightwing suit was inactive, which meant he wasn't wearing the uniform at the moment. For a moment, panic clutched her heart. What if he'd been unable to escape the mine? The old mine's collapse had made the evening news yesterday. If Dick had still been inside when that happened, he would be dead.

But, that was impossible. Alfred insisted "Miss Troy" would rescue him. Barbara thought back to the last image she'd seen of them together at his apartment. They'd been kissing on the video, right before the screen went dark. Her thought then had been that Donna could well be the right woman for Dick. He'd had lovers -- Starfire, his college girlfriend Lori Elkins, Huntress -- but he'd never let any of them as close to him as Donna Troy. Not even Starfire, who had shared his life in the Titans just as Donna had. It had always been Donna whom he trusted with his secrets and his fears, maybe even some he didn't share with Barbara.

No, whatever happened, Donna Troy wouldn't let Dick die -- or if she did, it would only be because she died first.

She sent a coded message to his cell phone. It was her least favorite method of contacting anyone, because it meant she had to wait for them to return the contact. Dick, at least, was usually prompt with such return calls. That was little comfort as she watched the minutes tick by, minutes she could use only to stare at the rumors and legends she'd compiled into a nightmare.

Finally, around nine in the evening, her communication line flickered to life. Dick's handsome face filled the screen, along with his bare chest. "You called, Oracle?"

His use of her code name told her she shouldn't deactivate the Oracle icon now displaying on his screen. He wasn't alone.

"This is getting to be a habit," she muttered.

"What's that?" he asked, casually shifting in the chair he'd drawn up backward to whatever table his communicator rested on. The chair's back was intricately carved, delicate, nothing Dick would own. The room behind him clearly was not his apartment. She wondered who he was with now.

A thousand cynical comments occurred to her, followed by a dozen more motherly questions and admonitions concerning his emotional well being. But the strongest, and most surprising was, _if he's screwed things up with Donna, I'll make his life hell_.

The intensity of that response surprised her, perhaps more than it should have. Applying her analytical skills to her reaction, she realized she wanted Dick to be with Donna. She wanted to share her newly discovered courage with him, If he were with Donna, then he wouldn't think it meant something more.

An instant later, as if summoned, Donna Troy stepped into view behind Dick. She draped her arms around his shoulders, kissed his ear lightly, and set a coffee mug at his elbow. Barbara read the love in the other woman's eyes.

Relief flooded her, and she allowed herself the smile that he wouldn't see. "Sorry. Talking to myself."

"And you got tired of talking to yourself so you called me?" That was Dick, always finding humor in the situation.

Barbara shook off the odd comfort she took in seeing Donna with Dick. Her disturbing conversations with the hacker Mouse over the last few hours threatened far too many dangerous possibilities to be forgotten in a morass of romantic speculation.

"I called because I need information." She saw his eyebrow lift and his unconscious caress of Donna's hand where it rested on his chest. "When you were in the mine with Deathstroke did you see a silver arrow, looks largely decorative?"

Both Dick's and Donna's faces went grim. "What about the arrow?" Dick asked.

All right, Dick had seen it, discussed it with Donna, and they were both concerned about it. Useful, if not particularly comforting, information. "My sources on it are convoluted and complicated. I've been chasing down legends and myths from the life of Alexander, as in the Great."

"I think that arrow was older than Alexander," Dick cut in. "From the markings on the shaft."

"That fits the more disturbing interpretations of my data." Barbara tried to keep the fear out of her voice, to sound every bit the unflappable Oracle. But, every time her comfortably technological world collided with the mystic and divine, particularly the malevolent variety, she lost her cool.

"It's Kreder's death weapon, isn't it?" Dick sounded certain.

"Maybe. I need to confirm a few things," Barbara hedged. She wasn't ready to give in to the existence of a god-made weapon hanging out in Bludhaven just yet.

"What do you know, Oracle?" Donna asked, calm like the sky at the center of a hurricane. Of course she was, Barbara thought. She was an Amazon, and likely well versed in the very details of Greek culture that Barbara was fuzzy on. Her presence, far from a detriment, was an asset to the investigation.

Barbara let her mind slip back to the conversations with Mouse. The young hacker had explained using a modified image recognition program to compare Slade's picture of the arrow to other representations on the vast internet. "About five years ago an archeological excavation on the island of Delos turned up an important fresco depicting the Battle of Issus."

"Delos, that's where Kreder found his temple." Dick was already putting clues together.

"Right," Barbara confirmed. "Same place, different excavation. Anyway, the fresco was probably created by one Philoxenos of Eretria, and quite famous in antiquity. Famous enough to be reproduced on a sarcophagus purported by some to be Alexander's." Barbara called up an image of the relief carved on the sarcophagus and displayed it on Dick's screen.

"I don't see any weapons," Dick said.

Barbara glanced at the now well-studied image herself -- a typically stylized Greek battle scene, it showed fighters with arms raised in active combat, and at their head, Alexander atop his famous horse with his own hand held above his shoulder grasping what should have been a long lance or spear. "The weapons were probably metal, gold or silver, and stolen ages ago. But, on the fresco, it's clear Alexander is holding a silver arrow."

She switched the screen image to show the painted version. In it, Alexander's silver weapon had been elongated to the size of a spear, but the distinctive fletching at the ends marked it as an arrow.

"That's just…" Dick frowned, "…odd." He leaned closer to the display, studying it hard. As he did, his expression grew more grim.

"Is that the arrow you saw with Slade?"

"Yes." He flexed his fingers as if gripping the shaft as Alexander once had. "I'm certain. I held the thing before Slade took it."

"It's one of the Arrows of Artemis," Donna said. "In legend, they're called Arrows of Strife or Arrows of Sorrow. They can kill instantly, and they can also make anything they touch more deadly."

Barbara's stomach knotted. She'd barely been willing to touch that possible conclusion while Donna grasped it immediately. "How are you so certain?"

"We have paintings and sculptures on Themysrica, Oracle. I've seen the Arrows of Artemis depicted many times."

Dick's jaw tightened. "How does something like that wind up on Earth?"

"That's where the legends come in." Barbara checked her notes before continuing. "Apparently, one of these arrows was given to Alexander of Macedon on the eve of the Battle of the Hydaspes River in 325 BCE, possibly by the goddess herself. With it, he defeated King Porus of Pauravas and won the day. He should have returned it to the gods at that point, but instead kept it for himself, probably because his army was exhausted and mutinying."

Dick nodded, encouraging her to continue. Still, his thumb stroked Donna's arm. Barbara would bet good money he had no idea he was doing it.

"At this point the stories diverge. Some say the gods punished Alexander by sending a disease down that killed him. Others say that at a banquet given by his friend Medius of Larissa, Alexander brought out the arrow to show his friend and, drunk, he accidentally nicked his finger. That small wound caused him to sicken and die. After that, his generals saw the arrow as cursed and hid it in a temple on the island of Delos."

"Where Kreder found it in his search for occult weaponry," Dick concluded for her.

"Correct, if the legend is true," Barbara cautioned, though it was formality now. The facts were lining up too straight to be denied. "Apparently, Deathstroke has the legendary arrow, and he seems to believe it has magical properties, but I need you to verify if you saw--"

"It's as deadly as you imagine." Dick's voice was dangerous as his frown, and Donna hugged him a bit tighter, a comforting motion. That confirmed Barbara's instincts. Donna could be what Dick needed. And what Barbara needed him to have -- a woman who would never be jealous of Barbara's own relationship with him, who would be glad he had Oracle's infallible information even as she provided what Barbara could never give.

_Even had Joker never shot me, Donna still would be better for him,_ Barbara thought. _I once had his back. I never would have been able to soothe what frightens him to the point of violence._

She might have wandered a bit farther down that mental path if his next words hadn't diverted her thoughts.

"I killed Blockbuster with it." Then, slowly, he explained the details of Desmond's death.

Barbara couldn't speak, and was grateful that he couldn't actually see her face. If her expression carried the shock she felt, it would be a caricature. Her surprise came partly from the thought Dick had caused someone's death, but the greater part came from how perfectly his description matched the legends of the arrow.

_The very presence of the arrow was believed to create corruption in a community_, one brittle academic had written of Alexander's time. And Kreder's diary, transcribed and uploaded to a blog by an admirer with a love of spider-web motifs, echoed the same sentiment -- _it's wholly evil, wholly wonderful. It makes killers lust more for blood, it gives me grand ideas. If only I could carve it into pieces and make a million tiny, evil darts._

Kreder couldn't figure out how to cut the arrow up, but Barbara easily imagined Slade Wilson would work out the process. The metal itself killed, which meant a thin foil of that silver over the tip of a bullet could kill. More ingeniously, a bit buried in the halls of Congress would corrupt every politician -- even more than they already were, Barbara added wryly. Kreder must have thought he could make another Hitler. Perhaps, in fact, he would have been on the way to such evil himself were he a man of higher ambitions. If it were sold to someone like Lex Luthor, or shot into the chests of the most powerful superheroes, the ways in which this arrow could be used to destroy were limited only by the creativity of the one who possessed it. Deathstroke was a creative man.

Barbara's panic choked her, flooded her senses, and she missed Dick's explanation of how Deathstroke wound up with the arrow.

"I didn't mean to kill Blockbuster," he was concluding when Barbara managed to focus on his words again. He sounded steady now, almost casual. Barbara knew he was anything but. "I swear I only meant to disable him so I'd have room to move. I didn't know what the arrow would do to him."

"I'm sorry," she said, though her fear of what could happen next didn't really allow much room for sympathy. She understood Dick must be torturing himself about the killing. That was a line he'd been taught never to cross. But, as far as Barbara was concerned, the man was a monster and probably deserved worse than he got. That was an older fear talking, but she didn't care.

"Don't want to talk about it, Oracle." He closed the topic firmly. "That arrow is more important. I need to know everything you have on it."

"There's no time for full disclosure. I have to call Superman, the Justice League …." She began tapping in the numbers as she spoke. "This is too dangerous not to act immediately."

"No." The tone of command in his voice startled Barbara more than his confession moments ago. Her fingers stilled half way through the call to the League.

"But, Dick --" too late, she realized she'd gone personal instead of professional. At least slipping in front of Donna wasn't a disaster.

"No," he repeated. "That arrow is deadly, and Deathstroke's the best there is at killing. I already know where Deathstroke will be tomorrow afternoon. He's already agreed to do an exchange. I'm the best one to get the arrow back, and I'll do it."

Barbara took a breath. He was so like Bruce, sometimes, so stubborn and determined to do things his way. "Slade Wilson is faster than you are, stronger, maybe smarter. You need backup."

"I'm going alone," Dick said. "He may be faster and stronger, but we understand each other."

"At least take Troia," Barbara pleaded.

Behind Dick, Donna was shaking her head. "He already refused."

"I know what I'm doing," Dick insisted. "Slade will honor his exact terms as long as I follow his instructions. They're the standard 'come alone.' I'm going to do that."

Her gut clenched. "And that gives him all the advantages. Would you advise a blackmail victim not to call to the police?"

"Ask me that when I don't live in Bludhaven," he shot back. "Think for a minute. You assume you'll call Superman and that will make everything safe and okay. But, this is a god's weapon. What possible assurance do you have that it won't kill Superman as quickly as it did Blockbuster? You can't make this a safe operation, Oracle. But, you can allow me to do my best to beat Deathstroke on his own terms before you send others off to risk their lives."

Barbara swallowed. "I don't like it," she said.

"It's not your decision." That tone told her why he'd been the unquestioned, unchallenged, leader of every team he'd belonged to.

"Dick," she began, her tone pitched to be soothing, even though the voice scrambler in his computer wouldn't carry the effect to his ears, "if this is atonement for killing Roland Desmond, you don't need it. You don't have to die just because--"

"It's not that," he snapped. Barbara had the feeling that if Donna hadn't had her hands on his shoulders, he'd be up and pacing. "This is the right tactic. I get that I'm not guilty of murder. It was at worst an accidental killing and certainly self-defense. Do I feel bad about it? Yes. Am I going to beat myself up for not realizing the arrow could've been more than it appeared? Probably, at some point. But I'll deal with all that when the danger is over. Right now what's driving me is a simple question -- what's the best way to get that arrow back without risking more lives?"

"But--"

"There is no but. I have to do this. And I'm telling you not to get in my way." Though the words were harsh, she could see from the way he bent closer and the softening of his expression that he understood she was afraid for him. Maybe he understood how she was afraid for herself as well. He finished with, "If I fail, you'll have more information that might help the others."

She didn't have to like his argument for it to be right. "All right," she said finally.

No one who didn't know him well would've noticed the slight easing of tension in his shoulders. "Transmit everything you've got on that arrow," he said. "And I'll call you after the meeting with Deathstroke."

"You'd better. Oracle out."

Barbara disconnected the call and sank back into her chair. Numb. Impotent. She couldn't quite believe she was going to let Dick do this by himself. But, he hadn't given her the details of his meeting with Deathstroke, and he'd cover his movements to prevent her from tracking him.

All of which left her alone with the terrifying possibilities should Dick fail. Those fears prowled like wolves in a new den. They roused the other fears already dwelling inside -- the fear of her identity being exposed, the fear of another bullet.

Realistically, she told herself, the arrow would not corrupt the world in the next few hours. It had been on Earth for millennia, after all. And yet, had it not spent most of that time buried in a region of the world known for violent upheavals? And since its discovery, it had been kept in Bludhaven. Was there a worse city in the country for corruption and violence? Maybe there was very little time.

She needed to follow Dick's example in this, confront the fear in a way she'd always refused to do before. He had to know there was a serious chance of dying, but he'd rather go down fighting. Wouldn't she? Yes, Barbara decided, she really would.

In a way, she'd begun when she'd called Mouse. She'd allowed a link to a criminal, to someone with the skills to track her down and rip off her Oracle mask. And yet, rather than a threat, she'd found an ally -- temporary, perhaps, but an ally all the same. The fear of exposure whimpered at that realization.

Mouse had told Barbara that she and Giz were going straight, heading for Hawaii to find a beach as far away from an internet hot spot as they could. She'd invited Barbara along. It was impossible, of course. Oracle couldn't visit with criminals, even reformed ones. Could she?

Certainly she couldn't while the arrow was still a danger, while the Justice League might still have to be called in, while her skills might yet be needed. But after? Of course she couldn't. It was absurd. However, Dick was moving on with his life. He'd maybe found what he'd been looking for in Donna. Barbara decided she could at least check the price of airline tickets.

-X-

Donna watched Dick's computer screen go dark and straightened, her hands still resting on his shoulders. She wanted to massage them, to ease his tension, but his bruised shoulder suggested that doing so might cause more pain than pleasure.

Instead, she said, "You were a little harsh with her."

Dick turned in his chair, pulled her into his lap. "Her? What makes you think Oracle's a her?"

Donna rolled her eyes. "Please. Aside from the fact that almost every oracle mentioned in history is female, it's obvious from how she talks."

He chuckled. "You're a better detective than you've let on. Why didn't you help me more all these years?" She knew he was jesting to ease his own tension. She felt the tightness under his skin.

"She cares for you," Donna said. It wasn't a question, but he could take it for one if he chose.

"We've known each other a long time," Dick admitted. He hesitated, and Donna had the sense that he was deciding how much to say. Finally he added, "I even thought that we might be more than friends, once. That didn't work out."

"I'm sorry." That it hadn't worked out had hurt him. Donna could hear it in his voice.

He shrugged, trying to be casual. "I'm over it, really. She'll always be a friend, but never anything more. Yet another failed relationship." Dick looped his arms around her waist and rested his head against her chest. "At least we're still friends."

"You and Kory are still friends, too," Donna had to point out. That was something they had in common, the two of them -- a string of failed romances that remained friendships.

"Are you and Kyle?" For once when he said Kyle's name, his voice wasn't controlled. She heard a hint of jealousy behind the words, and realized she liked that he felt it.

"Yes." That, at least, she was certain of. She took a breath. "Terry and I weren't, at the end. I've always regretted that."

His arms tightened around her. "I'm sorry."

That was a topic best avoided. "Oracle's scared for you -- and so am I."

He brushed fingers lightly over her wrist. Another man would have patted her hand and patronized her. Not Dick. "I need you here, Donna. If I die, if I fail to get that arrow back from Deathstroke, I need to know someone I trust will be here to lead the next attempt."

"Batman could do that. There are lots of people who can."

"But nobody I trust more." He met her gaze squarely. "You've been my second in the Titans since the team re-formed. You know what we're facing. You can keep calm in a crisis. And you lead gently where others lead with force."

She kneaded his neck carefully, avoiding the shoulder she'd inadvertently bruised. She'd rarely argued his logic before, and she couldn't now. Whether she'd agreed or not, she'd followed his orders since they were children. Being his lover didn't change that truth. Every time the team had deviated from his plans, they'd lost. She thought about the horror Raven's father had released on Earth and, not for the first time, wondered if that would have turned out better if they'd trusted Dick's cautious approach instead of listening to unproven prophets.

"I won't second guess you now," she said. "I just want you to know, I want you to come home."

Dick wrapped his arms against her and held her close, his head tilted back to look up at her. "I can't think of any better motivation to come home than if you'll be waiting for me."

She bent to kiss him. "Let me give you more motivation."


	8. Chapter 8

We still don't own them. More's the pity.

-X- -X- -X- -X- -X-

The world re-formed around Diana, and she inhaled the sterile, recycled air of the Watchtower. As different from Themyscira as any place could be, the Justice League's moon base was as much her home as the island. It felt right to wear the armor again, to have the lasso at her hip and the tiara on her head.

Like Donna, Diana could never be happy being only an Amazon. Unlike her sister-self, she could wait for deeper companionship. What she couldn't wait for was answers. The murderer on Themyscira had to be found and her own investigative skills had proven unequal to the challenge. Simply put, she needed Batman. And, if he were anywhere today, it would be here on the moon, attending the Justice League meeting.

She made her way to the meeting room to find that she was the second to arrive. Kyle -- Green Lantern, she reminded herself, as he was in costume -- stood looking out the armored windows toward Earth. He turned at the sound of her footsteps and nodded a greeting.

Diana noted how composed he seemed, how secure in himself. She smiled again at the thought of him and Donna being able to share forever.

Then he blinked. "Diana? You're back?"

"I'm back," she said. "And very glad to be."

"So am I," he said, matching her smile.

Her forehead creased in confusion. Had he not been available for Donna to offer him the ambrosia? "Back? You've been away on a mission, then?"

"No. I just faced a very interesting life choice recently." His mouth twitched in a half-smile. "You probably know something about it. Donna offered me eternal life."

"I knew she had the chance to. I didn't know she'd done it already."

"You could've knocked me over with a feather when she did. I mean, I thought this ring --" it glowed on his finger briefly -- "was a big gift."

"I can't think of anyone better suited." She would've stepped forward to hug him, but something in his stance made her stop.

"I turned her down."

Diana felt her stomach fall. She'd been so sure Donna would be happy. It had never occurred to her that Kyle wouldn't want the gods' gift. "How did she take that?"

"Well enough." He chuckled softly. "Too well to have been in love with me."

"Kyle -- I'm sorry." She stretched out a hand to offer comfort, surprised again when he shook his head.

"It's okay, Diana, really. The truth is, I'm not in love with her, either."

Diana swallowed. Even though she was no longer the goddess of truth, Hestia's gift to her before she was born still held, and she sensed the sincerity in Kyle's words. But, if they didn't love each other, how would Donna find happiness with the gifts the gods had given her?

"Diana." Wally's -- The Flash's -- enthusiastic greeting distracted her from thoughts of her sister. "I didn't know you were coming back. Are you still a goddess?"

"No. No longer." She'd given that up for Donna. Or so she'd told herself. Perhaps she'd given it up for herself, so she could have this back -- her role as Wonder Woman, her place with these people.

"Well, damn." Wally grinned. "Here I thought I'd be able to say that god -- or at least a goddess -- is on our side."

"Wonder Woman is more than enough," Clark said as he came through the door, his cape billowing with each step. "It's good to have you back, Diana."

She turned into his embrace. The world could think they were lovers. They both knew better, and right now it was good to see her friend again. "It's very good to be back."

Diana stepped back and glanced over Clark's shoulder. "Batman's not usually late."

"Thirty seconds is late?" Kyle asked.

"For Batman," Diana chorused with Clark and Wally.

Kyle shook his head. "That man's cowl is on too tight."

"He'll be here later," Clark said. "He said, quote, budget meetings put me to sleep, end quote."

"Much later, I hope." That bellow could only be Aquaman. Diana nodded to him, and then at J'onn and the rest of the team.

"We're all here," Clark said, "so let's get started."

Diana didn't want to get trapped in the meeting either. She needed to find Batman, and she wanted to see Donna and find out how she was dealing with Kyle's rejection. She watched the others settle and then slipped out the door. Not wanting to leave the Watchtower without talking to Batman, she found her way to the Observation Deck.

She wondered sometimes why the architects of the tower had constructed this circular room. Perhaps it was to give everyone a good view of the Earth they were sworn to protect. It was awe inspiring to stare at the whole world in the sky overhead. The sight reminded Diana that she couldn't think only of the needs of those she loved. She needed to remember the larger picture.

It would have been easy to focus on Donna. But, Diana had to remember that someone able to kill armed and trained Amazons roamed her home island. That had to take precedence -- but she could do nothing about that until Batman arrived.

Until then, she could consider Donna. That was more comfortable than pondering her own failures -- and she had failed. She'd seen Donna's need, but never considered the solution could be more complex than a draught from the gods.

She could tell herself that it happened because she loved Donna, and she loved Kyle, and she would have loved to see them together. But that, too, would be a lie. The truth, as painful as it was to admit, was that she didn't know her sister or her teammate well enough to discern the nuances of their relationship. Some goddess of truth she'd turned out to be.

A silken whisper, fabric against armor, alerted her to the new presence. Diana turned before he could speak, pleased to be able to detect a man who moved as quietly as night itself.

A smile ghosted across Batman's mouth, the only sign he'd give that he appreciated her skill. "Superman said you were looking for me."

"I need your help," she said, and briefed him on the events on Themyscira, concluding with, "I have many skills, but no one is a better detective than you."

Diana waited. She could only see Batman's lower face, and neither his jaw nor his mouth gave a hint of what he was thinking. After a moment he said, "I wish I could help. But, Bruce Wayne has obligations that can't be ignored."

"This is important," she pressed.

"I understand, but I'm not the only detective available." He must've seen her frown, because he added, "Nightwing's been helping your sister with some issues recently. He might be able to help you as well."

"Nightwing?" Diana frowned. She knew of him, thanks to Wally and Donna, but she'd never worked with him.

As if to urge her to accept Batman said, "I taught him everything I know."

Diana had no choice but to agree. "I just need to know how to contact him."

-X-

Dick had allowed almost five hours for the drive to Washington. In theory, if traffic ran well, it would just take slightly more than four hours. In practice, that was a very big 'if.'

He'd intended to spend the drive working out a plan to defeat Slade Wilson, but thoughts of Donna kept distracting him. They'd spent a day together, sometimes making love, sometimes talking, sometimes just wrapping themselves in the comfort of each other, but there'd been no commitments. She'd said she wanted a lover, and he'd been the best one he knew how to be.

He had no doubt she'd enjoyed their time together as much as he had, but was that all she wanted? Under normal circumstances, that question wouldn't trouble him. He could be patient. He believed he could prove himself worth keeping. But the vial full of ambrosia rested in a compartment on his left wrist, and its presence made all these issues immediate.

If he knew she loved him, he would simply drink the ambrosia. That would deny Deathstroke any chance of increasing his already formidable abilities and improve Dick's own chances in combat. But, to use the gods' gift for expedience, not knowing he would be her choice, felt like a betrayal.

He shied away from betraying someone he loved. He'd been betrayed himself, and he knew what that felt like. He wouldn't wish that feeling on anyone else. So -- how could he defeat Deathstroke without using the ambrosia?

It would be a challenge, he knew, not only because Deathstroke operated at more than human normal capacity, but because Dick himself still wasn't at his peak. He'd visited Leslie Thompkins' clinic in Gotham and she'd injected him with steroids to speed his recovery, but his shoulder still hurt when he moved too quickly, and quick movements were guaranteed when he was fighting Deathstroke.

He passed the exit for 3rd Street. If he'd taken that and turned down F Street he could visit the international spy museum. That spying sounded like a vacation break said worlds about the level of tension he'd been living with. "Maybe someday, providing I survive the afternoon," he told himself.

Instead he kept to the freeway, passing the capitol and eventually taking the Potomac Park exit onto Ohio Drive. The day was gray and rainy, limiting the number of tourists, and he was lucky enough to find a spot along the road. Dick checked his watch -- nearly half an hour early.

More time to plan. He really needed a good plan. Soon.

Dick knew the confrontation wouldn't take place at the Jefferson Memorial. Instead, he'd find a clue that would lead him somewhere else. It would be a place that gave Deathstroke the best advantage and inhibited Dick as much as possible.

"Means someplace open, away from any good places to hook a jump line or find cover when the fighting gets hot." He locked the car and stuffed hands in the pockets of his coat. Good thing it was chill and rainy. The weather made his coat less conspicuously out of place. "Wilson's learned not to try to confine me. I managed to take out Blockbuster in a confined space."

On the other hand, Deathstroke wouldn't lead him on a chase just for the chase's sake. He'd pick a place relatively close, certainly within the DC metro area. Dick ran through possibilities in his mind. The National Mall, of course, or maybe Arlington National Cemetery. Dick shook his head. There were too many possibilities. He'd have to wait until he found the clue.

That wouldn't be too long from now, he thought as he approached the memorial proper. Thanks to its orientation in West Potomac Park overlooking the tidal basin, Dick had to approach the building from the rear -- where, he noted, there was a small parking lot filled with cars.

He rounded the circular colonnade to climb the steps to the portico. He wasn't certain whether he should be grateful this was one of the less popular memorials in Washington or not. Still, a double handful of tourists stood under the dome, some eyeing the statue of Jefferson. Others read the words of the great man carved on the interior panels.

Two girls in their late teens, eating ice cream, giggling, and whispering from behind raised hands, seemed to be studying him. Nightwing suspected they were bored with the sights, but kept circling the interior of the monument to avoid the rain. A boy of about fifteen strayed from his parents to get a closer look at him as well. None of the other tourists offered Nightwing more than a glance. As expected, Deathstroke was nowhere in sight.

He had to make up his mind about the vial. That the idea of using it hadn't vanished from his mind the moment he thought the word "betrayal" troubled him. So did the fact he could see few ways to get out of Washington with both the vial and the arrow if he didn't drink the ambrosia. Dick wasn't used to choosing the lesser of two evils. He'd lived by the idea that you kept evaluating options until you found the good solution.

He checked his watch. Still a good ten minutes before noon. Deathstroke would be exactly on time with his message, though how it would be delivered, Dick couldn't guess. He might as well look the part of the tourist while he waited. The boy he'd noted earlier passed close enough to mutter, "Nice boots, man," before striding out into the rain. His parents followed, huddled under one umbrella. The girls, two couples, and a family of five remained under the dome.

Dick allowed his gaze to wander. Overhead, the inscription along the frieze read: "I have sworn upon the altar of God eternal hostility against every form of tyranny over the mind of man."

"You and me both, Mr. President," Dick murmured. The words might inspire others, but it offered no solution to the current problems. No god was likely to help him out of this mess. In fact, gods had caused it. So swearing on altars probably wouldn't help him. And the inscription didn't suggest a clue either.

He turned to the southwest and smiled. He knew the words inscribed there. "We hold these truths to be self-evident that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain inalienable rights, among these are life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness…" he read the rest, noting that the passage had been edited. Was that not why he was here? To retrieve an item which could deprive people of life? That might be true, but didn't give a hint of where he might meet Deathstroke.

Maybe he was approaching this problem wrong. Maybe he needed to think about Slade Wilson the man. Deathstroke considered himself a loyal soldier as much as he saw himself as a hired blade. The man would hold the words carved into these walls sacred, if he held anything sacred.

But what did that tell him, other than that they were both men of honor, however different their personal codes might be?

He turned to the southeast panel. The words there were unfamiliar -- and singularly unhelpful.

"I am not an advocate for frequent changes in laws and constitutions. But laws and institutions must go hand in hand with the progress of the human mind. As that becomes more developed, more enlightened, as new discoveries are made, new truths discovered and manners and opinions change, with the change of circumstances, institutions must advance also to keep pace with the times."

"No offense, Mr. President," Dick said, "but you're not helping."

"Excuse me." The voice was high, feminine, and he turned to see the two teenage girls standing beside him. One of them stared at him, and the other said, "But are you Mister Grayson? The one on the scavenger hunt?"

Scavenger hunt? Okay, that might fit Slade's sense of humor. He kept his gaze focused on the girl who'd spoken and tried to pretend he wasn't being mentally undressed by the other teenager. "Yeah, that's me. You have a clue for me?"

"Uh-huh." She scrunched up her forehead in concentration. "He said the next clue is at the point of the arrowhead."

"Thanks." He hoped they'd go away, but they continued to stare at him. Dick gave them a quick, discouraging smile and headed back out of the monument.

"Hey." The girl who'd spoken called. He paused and turned back. "He said be there in ten minutes."

"Useful piece of information." Dick glanced at his watch. The girls hadn't waited until exactly noon. His watch read 11:57, which meant he had thirteen minutes to figure out the puzzle and get there. "Thanks."

He paused on the steps, staring out across the water, first toward the Washington Monument. In the vaguest of terms, the obelisk could be thought of as an arrow, with the summit the point, but Dick was pretty sure he knew what the clue really meant. Wilson was a first rate bastard. He was setting up a situation where a lot of innocent people could die.

Dick wasn't surprised.


	9. Chapter 9

Not ours, just having fun with them.

-X- -X- -X- -X- -X-

After Dick left, Donna straightened the bed, smoothing the covers and fluffing the pillows. A simple task, she told herself, common, nothing special or unusual. This day was like any other. She had to believe that. She had to believe that nothing devastating would lock this particular moment into her memory. She and Dick would have so many more nights to figure out what they were to each other that this first one would lose its special gloss. First times didn't have to be important when they were repeated over and over.

He'd worn his costume, and she'd bought him a calf-length overcoat to use as a disguise. His jeans still lay by the bed, near the shirt she'd torn off him in passionate fun. Donna folded the jeans and set them aside where he would find them when he came back. The shirt she carried into the kitchen, intending to throw it away.

At her sink, she pressed the soft fabric to her face, remembering how it felt to rest her cheek against his chest. She inhaled deeply, his scent once again filling her awareness. How much she'd miss his smell if the worst happened. She didn't want to think of that, even though she knew it was a possibility. Still, there was one way to make sure she had the chance to breathe him in again. She folded the shredded garment carefully into a small square and tucked it into a plastic zippered bag. When he got back, they could laugh about her sentimentality.

She was on her way to put the bag with her other carefully kept mementos when a knock echoed through her apartment. She frowned. Dick couldn't be back already, could he? Dropping the bag with its precious contents inside her bedroom, she turned toward the door.

She opened the door to a broad grin and a shock of red hair. "Hey, gorgeous."

"Roy? What're you doing here?" She stepped aside to let Roy Harper come inside.

"You must have something on your mind if you forgot our lunch date. Or else you're finally sick and tired of me."

"Lunch." As soon as he said it, Donna recalled the plans they'd made a week ago. "Sorry, a lot has been going on and it slipped my mind."

"A lot going on?" His grin turned Roy-lecherous, a comical expression. "Anything X-rated and worth sharing?"

Sometimes she hated how easily she could blush.

"That would be a 'yes.' So, details?" Roy grinned even wider and held out his arms for a hug. "Possibility of a threesome?"

She hugged him, grateful that it at least hid her embarrassment. She knew her face was redder than her old costume had been. "Would you really want a threesome of two guys and me?"

"Any threesome that includes you is at least worth considering," Roy answered. "But it would depend on the other guy."

"Um." Should she tell him? On the one hand, it would be good to have someone to talk to who knew and cared for Dick, too. On the other, it was Roy.

"Okay, that sounds serious." Roy pulled back to look down at her. "All kidding aside -- you want to talk?"

"It's not serious," she began. "At least I don't think it is. More like we always were. Friends with extras."

"Benefits, Donna. It's called friends with benefits, and you were never completely comfortable with the idea. You always wanted the man of your dreams, just didn't think you'd ever get him."

That was serious talk for Roy, but Donna knew he was capable of it when something really mattered. "Yes, well…"

"Stop stalling. Spill. Who're you with, or back with?"

"It's not -- oh, gods, Roy, it's not the sex stuff or anything. It's a mission. He's going off into danger, serious danger, and I'm afraid I'll never see him again."

"Oh. Dick." He didn't sound surprised.

She gaped at him. "How did you know? He's not the only man I know who puts himself in danger."

"No, but he's the only one you'd worry about that much." Her confusion must've shown on her face, because he added, "You've been in love with him since we were kids."

"I have not," she protested. "I --" Then she stopped. Had she? And if she had, how had she been blind to it so long?

"Donna." She'd heard him use that tone with his young daughter, Lian. That he took it with her suggested he thought she was being incredibly dumb. Or blind. Or both. "Do you really think I didn't know? I mean, when you scream out his name in ecstasy, it's pretty obvious."

"I never did that." Well, technically, she had, several times over the past twenty-four hours "I mean not with you."

"Actually…" He had the uncharacteristic good grace to look embarrassed. "Yeah, you did. A couple times."

It would be convenient, she thought, if her face could just stay red. It would save her the trouble of blushing again. "Did I? I'm -- sorry. I really didn't mean to -- and why didn't you tell me?"

"Why should I?" He sounded astonished.

"Why should -- because it was embarrassing."

"Well, for you maybe, but I kept getting his orgasms, so I came out ahead." That was all Roy, right down to his cheeky grin.

She glared at him. "If I were still fifteen I'd hit you, hard."

"Another reason not to have made this confession earlier in our lives." His smile slipped and he turned serious. "Look, Donna -- in all honesty, I decided it was for the two of you to figure out. We'd never been in love, and we weren't going to be. As long as I didn't tell you, you'd still turn to me for comfort, and I thought you needed that. Not saying there wasn't that selfish orgasm thing for real, or that getting one up on ol' Robbie wasn't appealing, but mostly I wanted to give you what I could, because you honestly are my friend."

How could she stay mad at him when he was that open, that honest? She had to match that with her own honesty. Roy's words were like sunlight through clouds. She'd been hiding from the truth. She loved Dick Grayson. She always had and, gods willing, always would. If he survived his encounter with Deathstroke. If…

She smiled at Roy, but felt her lips trembling. "Give me a minute."

"Sure."

Roy sounded confused, but she ignored that, intent instead on grabbing her cell phone. She had to call Dick, had to tell him to drink the ambrosia so he would survive, so she could tell him she loved him.

Her call went straight through to voice mail -- he'd already turned his phone off. She'd never have wanted to tell him this through a voice mail, but she had to leave a message, in case he checked it before the fight started. If it hadn't already. "I choose you, Dick. I love you. Do everything possible to make sure you come back to me."

She disconnected the call, and closed her phone, praying that he'd get the message in time. Then she turned back to Roy. "Thank you."

He nodded, understanding what she hadn't said. "So, what's he off to do now? And why aren't you with him?"

"That's a long story."

"So we order in, and you talk, and I'm here -- whatever you need."

-X-

The branches of the tree Slade had chosen offered some relief from the summer storm. He didn't care about the rain. He'd had longer stakeouts in worse conditions in his life. What he wanted from the tree was a concealed vantage point. He checked his watch. Seven minutes past noon. Three minutes until Slade could climb down the tree, pull off the mask he wore when working, and return to his normal life.

He didn't expect Grayson would be foolish enough to keep this appointment. In every battle but one, Slade had emerged victorious, and in that one Grayson had only escaped through a calculated gamble. Grayson had to know the outcome would be no different this time -- especially since Slade had arranged it so there were no calculated gambles to be taken.

"Come on, kid. Be smart. Stay home. Stay alive." It would be easier for everyone that way. Of course, Slade would then need to do a bit more breaking and entering if he wanted to get his hands on that vial and whatever it contained. But, he could manage that. Offering this deal had been a weak moment to start with. He'd seen the kid's pain over killing Desmond, a man Slade was more than happy to see dead, and for that brief moment Slade had felt he owed the boy.

He really had to toughen up that soft streak. It would get him in trouble some day.

Not today, though. Eight minutes past noon. Almost time to leave. Then, he caught sight of a dark figure running improbably fast from the direction of the reflecting pool. "Oh, hell."

Nightwing slowed as he approached the Wall, to recover his breath somewhat before the confrontation, Slade knew. For a moment, he debated going home himself, but if Grayson had shown up here, he'd hunt Slade until he found him. Or Slade killed him. Either way, the outcome was the same. He didn't owe the kid anything more.

Time to go to war. Slade dropped from the tree, landed on his feet and beat Nightwing to the junction of the two walls of the Viet Nam Memorial by a second, he at the top and the kid below on the far side of the post-and-rope barrier along the walkway. "Didn't expect you to show."

"Then you don't know me."

Slade read his opponent's stance easily. Nightwing looked relaxed, but Slade could see the subtleties that meant he was ready for a fight. Slade chuckled. "Easy, kid, we're not here to fight. This is just a nice, friendly exchange."

"An exchange, maybe," Nightwing allowed. "Hardly friendly."

On the path below his perch, Slade saw umbrellas tilt upward and cell phone cameras flash. Everyone was a reporter today. But, these tourists were part of his plan, as were the police some of them would be calling as soon as the fight started.

Slade nodded. "You have the vial?"

"You have the arrow?"

"I'll show you mine if you show me yours." Slade pulled the tubular container from his back and opened it, tilted the shaft end of the arrow out into his palm.

Nightwing popped open a compartment on his left wristguard. He removed something and held it up. Even in the gray light, the vial glittered. "The whole thing. I don't think you broke it, but let's be sure, shall we?"

The kid was thorough. Slade had expected nothing less. He grasped the arrow and withdrew it completely from its case, making clear the weapon was still in one piece.

"So we throw things to each other and then walk away like civilized men?" Nightwing asked, a grin playing about his mouth.

"We can do it that way." Slade spun the arrow in his hand, completing the movement so he gripped it in a throwing hold. He raised his arm to his shoulder. "Shall we count to three?"

"In the case, thanks. It'll be impossible to get it on the plane otherwise."

"You take all the fun out of life." Still, Slade let him watch as he slipped the arrow back into its case. Then he raised the leather cylinder overhead. "One."

Nightwing readied the vial for an underhand throw. "Two."

"Three." The timing had to be perfect. Nightwing was good, and he'd be able to judge a wild throw. So, Slade made sure he looked like he was aiming straight down. He timed his release to be a fraction of a second behind Nightwing's. In that final moment, he flicked his wrist just enough to send the arrow case wide and to the right of his target.

He allowed his body to follow the line of his throw, caught the glass vial at the peak of its arc, and continued forward. With just a bit of luck, he'd land nearer the arrow case than Nightwing could manage. They'd likely grapple for it, of course. Not a problem.

His leap took him over the post-and-rope barrier, and he dove into a roll, skidding on the rain-slicked grass, and came to his feet less than a yard from the case and more than five feet from Nightwing.

"Here I thought you were a man who kept his word," Nightwing said. He sounded disappointed, Slade thought, if not resigned. "Now I know better."

"Truth hurts, kid." Slade scooped up the case. Something niggled in the back of his mind. Nightwing hadn't moved toward the case at all, merely pivoted to watch Slade's gymnastics. Now the young hero watched while Slade gathered up the arrow in its carrying case and slipped the strap over his shoulder, his expression revealing little other than a slight amusement.

"Impressive jump," the younger man said. "A little sloppy on the roll, though. You need to tuck in tighter."

"Gymnastics aren't my strong suit." He dropped the vial into a belt pouch and drew his sword. Slade had known going into this that if the kid showed up he was going to have to die. It was a pity, but necessary. "Weapons are more my style."

Nightwing shifted his weight slightly, ready to attack. "We can still end this like rational men. Just hand over the arrow, and we'll call it a day."

"Too late for that. We both know you'll feel compelled to come after me for the other toy. You can't let it stay in my tainted hands for long, so I have no obligation to keep my end of the bargain." Slade's danger instincts were ringing, though. Something was definitely wrong. He realized suddenly that the kid had given over the vial far too quickly, not even attempting an appeal to do the right thing. "No, you won't follow, will you? You've already emptied the vial."

"Give the man a kewpie doll. You only asked for the vial, not its contents. You didn't think I would be generous, did you?"

"Didn't expect you --" Slade knew to attack when a target least expected. He swung the sword full force and speed at Nightwing's knees before finishing his sentence. "--to show up at all."

The blow never connected. Nightwing leapt up, clearing the blade by a good five feet -- and hovered there.

Hovered? No time to consider the impossibility of that. Slade stabbed upward intending to skewer the floating man. "Good trick. How'd you manage it?"

"Upgrades." The brat darted left, avoiding the thrust. "I guess you could say I'm Nightwing 2.0."

"Always with the smart-ass remarks." Sometimes the only way to win a battle was to retreat. Slade didn't know how Nightwing learned to fly. He did know that he himself was fast and strong and could clear the area in seconds, even while sheathing his sword on the run. He took off for the trees.

Except that Nightwing was fast, too -- faster than he should've been, because he landed in front of Slade, blocking his path. "Leaving so soon?"

"You didn't just empty the vial, did you?" Slade asked, the truth coming at him like a rocket. "You drank whatever was in it."

"Are you going to hand over the arrow and the vial, or am I going to have to take them from you?"

Nightwing could dodge the sword, but could he withstand a blast from Slade's power staff? He brought the weapon up, but Nightwing slapped it aside. The force of the blow sent the staff spinning several yards away and a shock of pain down Slade's arm. "No weapons."

The tourists had stopped snapping pictures and started dialing 911 as soon as the sword came out. Slade knew that within minutes the park would be full of police, and maybe FBI and others. He'd planned to be gone before they could be an issue, and to stick Nightwing with the authorities if he was still alive. That plan was in shambles now.

Nightwing was a skilled martial artist -- one of the best Slade had ever fought. And now he had superpowers. This might be a real fight. Finally.

"Time to get nasty." Slade dove at his opponent, intent on grabbing him, crushing him with bare hands if need be. At least grass, wet as it was, allowed some purchase for his boots.

He expected the block, and tried to twist the younger man's arm into a nerve-hold, despite the rain coating both men's armor. The hold lasted a full five seconds. Then Nightwing wrenched his arm free and threw a punch toward Slade's midsection. The punch lacked the hero's usual confidence.

"Slowing down, kid?" Slade didn't know where the boy's hesitation came from, but he wasn't about to let the opportunity it presented pass by. He threw a vicious combination designed to distract the young hero and allow him to pull a stun grenade.

Nightwing dodged easily, but again the counter-attack lacked conviction. Slade caught his wrist, rolled, and threw the younger man. The move gave him a second to think. He remembered the instant after Blockbuster's death -- Nightwing frozen with regret -- and understood. The kid's powers were new. He didn't yet know how much force would kill. Slade smiled behind his mask.

Then he slammed a kick at the boy's left knee. Nightwing leapt to one side, but a half-second too late. Slade's boot slammed into the equipment case that doubled as a greave. He heard the crunch of armor giving way, wondered if it masked the crunch of bone shattering as well.

Nightwing landed hard, favoring that leg, but he could still stand. Slade couldn't take the time to wonder what other powers the kid had received. He had the advantage, and he wouldn't lose it.

Slade pressed his attack -- kick, punch, jab, kick, kick -- no order to the strikes, just an attempt to drown the young man who didn't yet know how to manage his strength. It should've been easy. The flurry of blows would've overwhelmed most men, but Nightwing deflected most, and the remainder scored only glancing contact.

Definitely a real fight.

But, Slade was getting the feel for the kid's movements now. He swept another kick to Nightwing's legs, made him jump. And used the retreat to buy time to re-draw his katana.

What the hell? The kid was grinning. And then escrima sticks appeared in his hands. Slade understood. Weapon to weapon meant Nightwing didn't have to worry about his strength as much. Not, Slade thought, that it would matter. His greater height and the length of the katana meant he had greater reach. The kid would be finished soon.

Dull metallic thuds echoed across the grassy field. The tourists, Slade saw from the corner of his eye, had resumed taking pictures. Nightwing actually seemed to be enjoying this. Slade couldn't blame him, as the kid blocked each attack with minimal movement.

"You always telegraph your moves like this?" Nightwing asked.

"Only when you give me an opening." And the kid had, when he blocked Slade's last strike. Not a big one, not one that most people could take advantage of -- but Slade wasn't most people. He rolled the blade around the escrima stick and thrust hard.

Nightwing winced as the katana sank deep into his side.

Slade watched the kid stagger back, off the blade, watched the color drain from his face. By the sudden stench that carried over the scent of rain-wet grass, Slade knew he'd severed part of his opponent's intestine. The kid wouldn't be standing for long, though it would be an ugly death. Slade had enough respect for his opponent finish it quickly.

All around, the crowd let out a collective gasp. Slade stepped closer to his opponent, hating the audience. None of them understood what had just happened here. None of them could've -- would've -- done anything remotely similar. Nightwing deserved better than gawking from people like them. "It's okay, kid. You did pretty good."

"Better than you think." Nightwing's voice sounded stronger than it should have.

"It'll be over quick." Slade raised the sword, brought it down without hesitation. The blade dug into Nightwing's suddenly raised escrima stick. What the hell?

He had no time to process what was happening. With a twist of his wrist, Nightwing pulled the sword from Slade's hands. Then he was on his feet. In the air. Kicking hard. The boot hit Slade's chest with the force of a cannon.

His armor absorbed much of the impact, but still Slade heard ribs cracking, and he staggered backward, unable to find purchase on the grass, finally landing on his back. Nightwing didn't give him the chance to recover, slammed a fist down into Slade's gut. Even though he'd tensed his muscles as the blow landed, Slade felt nausea rising. He clenched his jaw to hold back the bile.

Nightwing grabbed the front of his armor, pulled him up to a half-sitting position and slipped the arrow-case off his shoulder.

Slade still had fight in him, but he heard police sirens in the distance. They'd be here in two minutes, perhaps less. Nightwing, apparently, could now fly away, but Slade would be stuck with a ground escape. Better not to risk an injury that might make that impossible.

"Good job, kid. Hope there's not a next time."

"Me, too." Nightwing quickly retrieved the vial from Slade's belt and the case from his shoulder. "But it's more your decision than mine, isn't it?"

Slade nodded an acknowledgment, and shouldn't have been surprised when Nightwing lowered him to the ground slowly rather than letting him drop. The young man just didn't have callousness in him. When the next time came, and it would regardless of what they wanted, Slade would use that against him. Then Nightwing was gone.


	10. Chapter 10

Flying was harder than Dick had expected it to be. There was a lot to think about when he didn't have the fulcrum point at the end of a jumpline limiting his options. As soon as he cleared the Reflecting Pool, he landed. That, at least, was easy, thanks to years of acrobatic training.

He'd had to ditch the trench coat Donna had bought for him on his run to the Wall, and now he could only hope no one had stolen it. If she never forgave him for drinking the ambrosia, it would be all he'd have left of her -- the coat, and memories of their time together.

And the powers. He'd known he'd receive speed and flight, the gifts of Hermes, from his conversation with Donna. The fight with Deathstroke had revealed he had additional strength, likely the gift of Poseidon. There was nothing more powerful than the sea. And the healing had to have come from Apollo, a god of medicine as well as art and sunlight. Which left the gifts of Hephaestus and Hecate yet to be discovered. He clung to the hope that he'd be able to share those discoveries with Donna. First, though, he had to get back to her.

He'd left the coat in the trees on the south side of West Potomac Park, just off Independence Avenue. If he'd had time, he would've concealed it better, but he'd barely had time to shuck it from his shoulders and toss it into the shadows of the trees. It would need a good cleaning, most likely, if it was still there.

It wasn't.

He'd counted trees instinctively as he ran, and now he counted backward, twice, until he found the one where he'd thrown the coat, and it was gone. Even his Romany heritage, which had never encouraged him to collect or become attached to many things, couldn't stop the grief welling within him.

"It's just a coat," he told himself, and knew he was lying. Donna might've gone out to buy it quickly, while he napped, but she'd picked one that was stylishly cut of soft leather and fit like it had been made for him. He'd miss that coat, and the consideration that had gone into her choice.

"I told you, put it back!"

The strident voice made him turn. While healing and flight and speed were among the gifts contained within the ambrosia, apparently enhanced senses weren't. He hadn't noticed the two boys some fifty yards away until one of them spoke.

"I found it, it's mine." That was a different voice, lower, and Nightwing only understood its words because he'd begun moving closer to the boys.

"No, it's not." The first boy sounded desperate. "It's his, he left it here, and you're not taking it. You can't steal from him!"

"What makes him so special?" The second boy sneered. Now that he was closer, Nightwing could see the resemblance between them. Brothers, he guessed, probably twelve and eight.

"He's a superhero," the younger one said, as though it should be obvious.

"How do you know he's the hero?" the older one asked. Nightwing had to admit it was a good question -- both he and Deathstroke wore armor and masks, after all.

"Because," the younger one's attitude suggested he thought his older brother was denser than lead, "the other guy was using swords and trying to kill people. Heroes don't kill people. Now put it back."

"Actually, I'll just take it myself, thanks." Nightwing hadn't meant to make the boys jump like that, but in his fight to keep his voice steady, he'd apparently gone too far toward making it Batman-gruff. Ah, well, he thought, better that than have a superhero sounding choked up. They were having an impact, however small, if an eight-year-old knew that heroes don't kill.

"See, I toldja he'd win and he'd want it back," the younger boy said.

"Why'd you throw it away?" the older asked.

"I didn't. I left it here because I didn't want it to get torn in the fight. And it would've, just like my armor did." Nightwing shifted his body to display the gash in his uniform where Slade's sword had gone through him.

"Wow." The older boy's eyes had gotten big as he stared at the ruined nomex and at the greave that was shattered beyond repair. Along, Nightwing thought ruefully, with his cell phone. He couldn't even call Donna to tell her he was all right.

"Give him his coat back, Billy," the younger boy urged.

Billy grudgingly held the coat out to Nightwing. "Which one are you? Batman?"

Nightwing grinned and took the coat. Thanks to the would-be thief, it wasn't as wet and muddy as he'd feared. "Not anymore. My name's Nightwing."

"I'm Kenny, and this is my brother Billy," the younger one said. "Can we have your autograph?"

"Do you have a pen and paper?" Nightwing asked. He'd never bothered carrying those in his utility belt, much less the greaves.

Kenny's face fell. "No."

Nightwing thought quickly, then dug into a compartment in his right greave, the one Slade hadn't destroyed, and pulled out a spare mask. "How about this?"

"Cool!" Kenny took the mask and held it up to his face. "Look at me! I'm Batman!"

"He's Nightwing, you doofus," Billy said.

Nightwing grinned, reached for another mask to give Billy. The kid might've tried to steal his coat, but kindness could work wonders. He frowned when he realized the compartment was empty.

"Looks like I only have the one spare," he told Billy. "Think you and your brother can share?"

"S'okay. I didn't want one of your stupid masks anyway." Billy turned and stalked away.

"You gonna sign the mask?" Kenny asked. "Please sign the mask."

"Sorry, Kenny. No pen, remember?"

"C'mon, Kenny," Billy shouted over his shoulder.

"I gotta go," Kenny said.

Nightwing nodded. "Thanks for taking care of my coat while I was busy."

Kenny grinned and ran to join his older brother, waving the spare mask as he went. Billy didn't even turn to look at it.

Nightwing watched the boys until they disappeared from sight, thinking that no good deed went unpunished. He'd made the younger brother happy, at the cost of pissing off the older one. He'd stopped Deathstroke, but had that come at the cost of losing Donna forever?

And now, it would be literally forever if he had lost her. He'd understood the risk even as he downed the ambrosia on his run toward the Vietnam Memorial, one of the most crowded spots in Washington. That's what he'd been thinking about at the time, the crowds of potential victims and the need to protect them. Now those people were safe, chattering about the excitement they'd witnessed, while he had to confront a very lonely eternity.

Nightwing pulled the coat on over his uniform. He had to tell Donna what he'd done, and soon. And then, he thought, he'd know whether he had forever to look forward to or to dread.

-X-

Archi's still had the best Thai food in this part of New York, Donna thought. Empty containers of ped sarm rod, pad thai, and pad ruam puk littered her coffee table. Unlike so many girls in her generation, Donna ate when she was worried, and the amount she'd polished off this afternoon said she was plenty worried. Beside her, Roy finished the last of the chicken satay and tossed the bamboo skewer onto his plate.

"Deathstroke, huh?" he said. "No wonder you're worried."

While they ate, Donna had filled him in on the events surrounding the arrow Dick now attempted to retrieve. She hadn't told him about the vial of ambrosia, though. That was too personal, too private. "I should be with him," Donna said. "But he told me to stay behind."

"Then it's right you did," Roy told her. "I don't always agree with him, but he knows how to plan a fight, and if he told you to stay behind, he had a good reason."

"That will be no consolation if he doesn't come back."

"He will."

Donna opened her mouth to remind Roy that Dick had gone to face Deathstroke, the Terminator, the man who'd taken all of the Titans down. A knock on her door cut off her words before she could speak them.

She dashed to the door. It was Dick. It had to be. He was safe and alive. She'd be able to put her arms around him again and tell him that she'd been an idiot for years. Friends? Why had she been so hung up on that silly word? She could be friends, and lovers, and forever with him, she knew that now. She yanked open the door, and barely managed to stop herself before throwing her arms around her sister, Diana.

"You don't look happy to see me."

"Of course I am," Donna protested, but it sounded hollow even to her ears.

Diana smiled gently. "But not as happy as you would be to see someone else."

"I'll take off." Roy came up behind Donna and gave her a kiss on the cheek. "I don't need to stay for the explanation a second time. But, if you need me, call."

The interruption was just long enough for Donna to gather her tumbling thoughts. Diana being here did not mean Dick was hurt, or worse. One had nothing to do with the other. He'd still call her, or just show up. She took a steadying breath and hugged her sister with less enthusiasm than she'd have given Dick. "Come on in."

Diana stepped past her, into the apartment. Her expression, Donna noted, was one of grim curiosity. But when Diana spoke, her tone was carefully neutral. "You chose Roy?"

"Roy?" Donna stared at her sister, her doppelganger. What would make Diana think Roy was even on the list of candidates, much less that she'd chosen him? "Gods, no."

Diana would never express her relief aloud, Donna knew that, but she saw the emotion flick across her sister's face. "I wondered -- he said something about an explanation."

For the second time in as many hours, Donna ran through the events of the few days. She told Diana about the conversation with Oracle, the Arrow of Strife, and how Dick had gone to get it back from Deathstroke. She even mentioned trusting him with the vial and regretting not realizing how she felt about Dick until he was gone. "I'm an idiot, a complete idiot."

"Hm." Diana began gathering the remains of the meal Donna had shared with Roy. "I'm -- surprised."

"Why surprised?" Donna helped her sister carry the empty containers to her garbage bin.

"Just --" Diana paused, then said, bluntly -- "I can't imagine someone raised by Batman accepting the gods easily. It's too bad things didn't work with Kyle."

"I'm not in love with Kyle." It felt so easy to say now. "I'm in love with Dick."

Diana was right, though, Donna had to admit. Dick hadn't been on speaking terms with any deity as long as she'd known him. He believed in something, or she thought he did, but he didn't talk about it. What would the gods think of someone like that receiving their gift?

"Is he in love with you?" Diana's tone was careful, as if she were a surgeon trying to probe a nasty wound. "He isn't known for long term relationships, is he?"

"It doesn't matter," Donna said, even though pain lanced through her at the thought that he might not feel the way she did. "He's my best friend, Diana. I've known him half my life -- I am his longest relationship, even if it hasn't been romantic."

Diana looked skeptical, and Donna couldn't blame her. She pressed on, "He's a good man, Diana, all of Bruce's best traits and none of his worst. There's nobody I'd rather see as a super-powered immortal than Dick. He will be good for the world."

"That wasn't exactly the intent of the gods when they gave this gift," Diana said, but she seemed strangely pleased with the inconsistency. "Then again, they aren't in touch with the modern world and what it needs."

"And they gave the gift to me, to bestow as I chose," Donna reminded her quietly. "And I choose Dick."

"I hope you chose well," Diana said, "not least because the Arrow of Strife is far too dangerous to leave in Deathstroke's hands. It needs to be returned to Artemis."

"I know. I wish I'd figured it out earlier." Donna hugged herself. It was a poor substitute for Dick holding her. "If I had, I wouldn't be worrying about whether he'd get my message. I wouldn't be worrying about whether Deathstroke will kill him. I would've told him face to face that I love him." She wouldn't stop regretting that mistake until he was safely back. If he made it safely back.

She slammed that thought down, hard. Of course he'd make it back. He had to. Dick was the only one who'd escaped Deathstroke when he'd sent Terra to infiltrate the Titans and bring them down from within. Dick was the best tactician she'd ever known, and even Deathstroke respected him. Dick would come back. She hadn't lost her chance to share forever with him.

Diana took a step closer, as if to hug Donna, then seemed to think better of it. Donna squeezed her own torso tighter. She didn't really want any arms but Dick's. Maybe Diana could sense that because she looked away and said, "Do you know where he went to face Deathstroke? I could go there. I could help."

Donna couldn't help laughing. Even she heard the edge of hysteria in it. "Why do you think I'm not with him, Diana? He insisted on going alone. He even took Oracle's tracking unit out of his costume."

Diana's mouth formed an "oh" of surprise, then she scowled. "I have to find him, Donna. He's why I came here in the first place."

Diana had come to see Dick, not her?

"Sorry I kept you waiting, Diana."

At the sound of his voice Donna felt relief, like water, spill through her. She turned, saw him, and another wave of joy rushed over her. He was not only alive, but seemingly whole and uninjured. He still wore the leather coat she'd bought him over his Nightwing costume. His mask was still in place. She couldn't see his eyes, but she believed they were lit with joy at seeing her as well. Not caring that Diana was there, she flew to him and threw arms around his neck.

His arms enveloped her, and his mouth found hers, and in this moment, that was all she needed for happiness.

Of course it couldn't last.

Dick pulled away much sooner than she would've preferred, though he kept an arm around her when he looked at Diana. "You said you were looking for me?"

"And you appeared." Diana's smile was cautious, careful. "You came in through the balcony."

He had, Donna realized belatedly. Did that mean he'd gotten her message, that he understood how she felt? Had he flown to her apartment, or merely used his jumplines as he had for years? Those were all questions that would have to wait. Diana had already begun explaining her problem.

"So, Batman said you might be available to help investigate murders on Themyscira."

Donna cut her off. As stunning as news of murder at home was, something else was more important. "Dick -- what about the arrow?"

"I have it." He opened the coat enough to show her the case slung over his shoulder beneath it. Donna breathed a sigh of relief at the arrow's recovery, but his movement also showed a broad gash in his uniform and the cloth there was darkened with blood. She'd seen no sign of pain when he moved. But, he was good at hiding things.

Dick turned back to Diana before Donna could ask him about the fight. "Of course I'll help. Do you want to give me details en route?"

"That would be best," Diana said. "That arrow is dangerous and best given back to Artemis as quickly as possible. Our priestesses have rituals for such a return. And the sooner we find out who is behind these murders, the safer everyone will be."

-X-

For all that Wonder Woman's plane was a marvel of advanced science, Dick thought, riding in it felt pretty much like riding in any other aircraft. There was the standard shifting discomfort as he tried to find enough room for his legs, now complicated by concern that he might shove a foot through the fuselage with his newly acquired strength. And there was the sullen prospect of several hours trapped in one seat with nothing to do but look out the window. Of course here he could pretty much look out the whole plane. The space between his feet showed an endless expanse of the purple-blue Atlantic. He had to trust that Diana knew how to operate the machine, but he couldn't help wishing he were at the controls, Donna at his side as co-pilot.

The first time they'd flown together, they'd both been wearing little more than fancy swimsuits. He at least had a cape to sit on that kept the backs of his thighs from sticking to the leather seats of their jet. Donna had grimaced every time she moved. He'd worked at not being distracted by her legs.

Now, they would fly together without a plane. If she still wanted to see him after he told her what he'd done. She sat in the seat beside him, her expression pensive. He'd seen that expression far too often during their lives. It was time, whether he liked it or not. He flipped open the compartment on his gauntlet and retrieved the now-empty vial carefully.

"Donna."

She turned from watching the clouds go by, and the vial glinted in his open palm. She took it and immediately saw that it was empty.

"You got my message?" Her eyes brightened. Was it hope, anticipation?

"Message?" Dick shook his head. What message had she sent? "Slade destroyed my phone."

"Oh." Distress clouded whatever bright emotion she'd had. "I thought, since it's empty, maybe you --"

"--I used it, Donna. I didn't see another way to stop Slade from drinking the ambrosia, or to be sure of beating him." He kept his voice low. Diana was in the front of the plane, guiding it despite the lack of physical controls. He didn't want her to hear this confession if he could avoid it, but he couldn't put it off, either. Donna deserved the truth now, before they reached her home.

Donna's eyes closed for a moment, and he couldn't tell what she was thinking or feeling. Then her hand closed around his, and she took a breath as she opened her eyes. "The message was simple." Her voice was as low as his. "I choose you."

As close as he sat to her, he couldn't have mistaken her words. But he could still hallucinate... she couldn't have said what he heard, could she?

She was staring at him, eyes wide and hopeful, waiting for him to say or do something. He felt momentarily frozen. He'd been struck dumb with grief, with fear, even with horror. But to be frozen with joy was new. New, and apparently more overwhelming. He knew what to do when confronted with grief or fear or horror. But what should he do now?

He tried to speak, but only managed an inarticulate, "Oh." Talk, Dick. Don't leave her sitting there unanswered. But, if he moved, if he spoke, he might shatter this moment that seemed as delicate as the vial he'd given her seconds ago.

No, he told himself firmly. This moment wouldn't break. They wouldn't break. They were unbreakable. That truth warmed him rapidly. They'd been through fighting, war, and death together. They'd been to hell and back, almost literally. Surely, they would survive loving each other.

"I mean, I realize you chose to use the ambrosia for practical, heroic reasons." Her chin came up as if she were trying to be brave. He wished they were alone so that he could show her how impractical his thoughts regarding her were. "But, I want you to know that if you want to try for more--"

"I love you." He hated that he had to whisper the words rather than shout them to the heavens and the gods themselves. "I want more. I'll show you how much more when I can."

She glanced forward, toward Diana's back. And then a smile like the sunrise spread across her lips. "I'll hold you to that."

-X-

By the time the plane broke through the god-storm surrounding Themyscira, Donna's heart was soaring. She hadn't stopped smiling since Dick had told her he loved her. She replayed the words in her mind, hearing them again in his whisper. _I love you. I love you._ The same way she loved him. There were doubtless a dozen complications to work out -- Batman's reaction, and her mother's, not to mention housing and how to explain things to their friends. But she didn't care. They had each other. Forever. Life was good.

"That's your home?" Dick asked. He'd leaned over to look past her for a better view of the lush island.

"Yes." She stared at Themyscira with new eyes. The sight of those rich green forests separated by tufted fields, the white stone palace and the darker houses had always pulled her in two directions before. This was a haven, and it was also the place where she most felt a stranger. Now, however, she was returning to her home a recognized princess, and bringing with her the man she loved. Today, all she saw as she looked out the plane was the beauty of the place.

This homecoming was a new beginning, even though she returned to murders and mystery. She wouldn't let those troubles dampen her joy as she pointed out the various temples and the palace to Dick. They approached for landing, and she saw that some of her sisters had gathered to meet the plane. Not the queen, however. Donna tried not to be disappointed. Hippolyta had so many duties, and there were those murders to hold her attention.

Diana knew it, too, because as she brought the plane down for a gentle landing, she said, "I'm sorry the queen can't be here to greet you. We will introduce you to the others then begin the investigation. Mother will offer an audience when she can."

"Any specific protocol I should know when that happens?" Dick asked.

"No, we're not as formal as some courts." Diana paused, then glanced over her shoulder. "But if she asks you to call her 'Polly,' she means it."

"Polly. Right." Dick turned to Donna and mouthed, "Queen Polly?" with an exaggerated expression.

Donna bit her lip to keep from laughing. Diana and Dick climbed out of the plane before her, giving her a precious few extra moments to control her laughter. By the time she joined them on the ground, Diana was finishing brief introductions. "Philippus, captain of our guard, and Menalippe, our oracle."

Dick nodded his greetings, and would have fallen into step with Diana if Donna hadn't caught his arm. He resisted her tug just a little, but then turned. "Sorry, still getting used to the strength thing."

He was stronger, and he healed rapidly now. She wouldn't have to worry about dislocating his shoulder again. "We have to talk about that sometime. The powers, I mean."

"I know. And I want to." He glanced over his shoulder. They were both conscious of the fact he was needed elsewhere. "I know about flight and speed, strength and healing. And I'm pretty sure Hephaestus' gift has to do with sorting out problems. I look at a situation and I can see the gears of it working."

"Which should be helpful in solving the murders, right?" She said it to release him to duty. She told herself she didn't need to hold him now.

"Right." He started to go. She caught his arm again.

"If you'll give me that," she indicated the arrow-case still dangling from his shoulder, "I'll get the ritual for returning it started."

He shrugged off the strap and held out the case. That he didn't hesitate underlined his trust in her. Then he leaned forward to drop a light kiss on her mouth. "I'll see you later."

This time, Donna let him go with her sister.

"Is he the one, Princess?" Menalippe asked. She'd switched back to Themysciran Greek after the brief English greetings.

Donna would have played dumb to almost anyone else on the island, but if any of them knew about the gift, it would be the oracle. She didn't bother avoiding the question. "Yes, he is."

"He's beautiful, and it's clear you love him." It was probably shallow to enjoy the look of envy that swept briefly over Menalippe's face, but Donna didn't care. She was going to enjoy every aspect of claiming Dick as her own, including the appreciation of other women.

-X-

"I know you don't have a morgue," Dick said to Diana as they left the landing site. He resisted the urge to glance back at Donna, instead focusing on the situation at hand. "But if any of the bodies haven't been buried, I want to see them."

"We burn our dead. But we're still preparing Timandra's funerary rites. You can see her." Diana glanced at him. "No mask?"

"Why should I wear the mask?" Dick asked. "You and Donna know who I am, and nobody else here cares."

Diana smiled. "Bruce wore his, when he was here."

"I'm not Bruce." Bruce. He'd have to tell Bruce about the powers, eventually. Yet another conversation he wasn't looking forward to. Fortunately, he didn't need to ponder that explanation yet. He had a case to focus in, the murder of several women who weren't ever supposed to die. Literally.

He knew the investigation didn't start with the examination of the body. It started now, on the path to wherever the dead woman's body rested. A wealth of clues waited in the people who walked by, in the buildings, in the society that housed the killer. In Bludhaven, he would have been reading hints already. But Themyscira was a foreign place. All the buildings looked like temples from a movie studio's back lot, though they were painted more brightly than he'd seen in the movies. All the women stared at him, many not having seen a male of the species for years or longer. It was hard to read anything beyond surprise, interest, or suspicion on their faces.

Only, he could see clues. Minute twitches in a brow that didn't quite frown, in a jaw that tightened, made a pattern of fear. Every woman here, even those that hated his presence simply because he was male, felt some degree of fear. It was, he realized, the fact that murder was alien to these women. Some had lived a thousand years and more, and never imagined such an evil deed at the hands of a sister. It would be hard for a murderer to hide here. Unlike in Bludhaven, here every citizen, whether farmer or scholar or soldier, was looking for the killer. And also unlike in Bludaven, none would hesitate to turn the criminal in.

Dick filed that bit of information in the back of his mind as he followed Diana into a small building behind one of the temples. The walls were cut stone, at least two feet thick, and the air inside was noticeably cooler than the air outside.

"Our version of a morgue," she told him, then gestured toward the far end. "She is there."

Daylight entered not only from the door Diana left open, but also through a series of small skylights overhead, each pointed toward a bronze mirror that amplified the thin light and turned it golden without adding heat to the space. The place was cooled, he realized, by a stream of carefully channeled water that ran around the perimeter of the floor and under each of the stone slabs. A morgue indeed, but why would immortal Amazons have one?

Diana seemed to sense his question. "The priestesses gave over their milk house so their sisters could be preserved. I suspect they will tear it down after this and build a new one."

Dick nodded. Timandra's body lay on a slab in the rear of the room, nude and undraped. The Amazons had no cultural mores that would demand anything different, but the sight still surprised him. He felt a muscle in his cheek twitch. Still, he approached and began his examination.

The corpse was slightly swollen, the face distorting already despite the chill. Dick supposed she'd been beautiful in life. All Amazons seemed to be. But, beauty had left her now.

"She was a weaver and a skilled huntress," Diana said, stepping closer herself and touching the woman's dark hair.

Dick nodded absently. There was no doubt what had killed Timandra. Her torso bore several deep gashes. Though cleaned, the wounds still revealed muscle, bone, and at her belly a bit of gray intestine that had likely leaked bile into her body. It had been a slow, vicious, and painful death. Why had no one heard her screams of agony? Why had she not been found and treated?

"What about the other victims?" Dick asked. Out of habit he pulled on surgical gloves before gently probing the abdominal wound.

"No common patterns," Diana said. "Other than they all had dark hair and light eyes, and were about my height. Aella said they looked like me, though I didn't see the resemblance."

He stared harder at the dead face. The cheek bones were high, the chin small yet strong. The cracking lips might have once been full. Focused now, his newfound ability to see the pattern of things gave him an image of the woman in life.

Dick stiffened as his new insight slammed the pieces of the puzzle into place. He turned to Diana. "Not you. Donna."

Diana's eyes widened. "Yes, Donna. Why didn't I see it before?" She paused, clearly thinking, then said, "Because my sisters don't think of Donna. They think of me."

"They all looked like Donna?" His mind now put together a puzzle he didn't want to see. "Why would someone, or something, on this island want to kill Donna?"

"Some _thing_?" Diana picked up on the emphasis he'd given that word.

Yes, thing. His fingers slid along the wound, searching. His conscious mind had been focused on her face, but another part had not missed the odd texture he'd felt an instant before. He found it again, stiff and yet flexible.

"She's in danger," Dick said. "Because whatever killed this woman wasn't human."

"Not human?" Diana frowned. "You mean Amazon?"

"Amazons are still human." Dick paused to pull a small pair of tweezers from his wristguard and then lifted a length of keratin from the wound. "Unless some of them have claws, no Amazon murdered this woman."

"Hera. What is that?"

"It's the outer layer of a claw." The thing was smoky colored and at least an inch long. "Or rather part of one. Like what cats shed when they sharpen their claws. DNA testing will confirm my suspicion that this didn't belong to any normal, mortal creature dwelling on your island."

"We have to warn Donna," Diana said.

"No, not just warn her." Dick's desire to protect Donna accelerated to about Mach five. What he wanted was to find her right now and take her off this island. He wasn't ready to risk losing her to some monster. A deep breath and brief closing of his eyes helped him control that wave of protectiveness.

Whisking Donna back to New York might or might not save her from some supernatural monster, but it would do nothing for any woman on Themyscira who remotely looked like her. Donna wouldn't leave with her Amazon sisters in danger, and he couldn't fault her for being a hero. That they understood that part of each other was one of the things that pulled them together. "No, we have to warn her, and then gather forces and help her deal with this threat. We have to have her back, as she'd have ours."

Diana cocked her head and really looked at him, for the first time, he realized. "You're right. After the ceremony --"

"The ceremony should wait, Diana. We have no idea when this monster will strike again."

"It can't wait. Dick, I'm sorry, but the priestesses will have already begun preparations. The arrow has to go back to Artemis before we can hunt this monster, and you have to be there. You have a role in the ceremony."

He clenched his fists. That felt wrong, out of order, dangerous. But, he was in their world now, and he couldn't force them to listen to him on this. "We'll still talk to Donna first though. There had better be time for that."

-X-

Donna dimly remembered a life when, as a young girl, she tended this ceremonial grove where the ritual would take place. She didn't know if that was a real memory or a fabrication courtesy of Dark Angel, but she liked it. She liked remembering this island as her childhood home, the Amazons as tutors, friends, sisters.

The grove sat in a natural amphitheater with sheer rock walls hugging three sides and a quarter circle of white columns completing the ring. Flowering trees decorated the space between the columns and heavy-scented vines trailed over the cliffs. Blue sky above formed the only roof.

The space held no set furnishings, but several priestesses had brought out ornamented tables of gilded wood. Donna tried to keep her thoughts serene as she swept the last of the leaves from the mosaic floor of the central ring. She'd stubbornly kept the arrow with her rather than surrender it to the high priestess as requested. Its case now bumped against her ribs with every movement.

The priestesses filed out, disappearing between the white columns, and Menalippe returned, carrying linen cloths for the wooden tables. She glanced over her shoulder to watch the others vanish, then hurried to Donna's side.

"You shouldn't be here, you or your beloved," the oracle whispered. "I fear you both are in grave danger."

"If the murderer thinks she can get the drop on Dick --" the expression didn't quite translate, Donna saw, but she forged ahead with her attempt to lighten the oracle's suddenly dour mood -- "she has another think coming. Unless, of course, you meant that I'll be fighting all my sisters for him."

"I wish it were simple jealousy." The oracle set the linen cloths on one table, then gestured Donna closer. "I've been having strange visions since Princess Diana returned from Olympus, since these murders began. I fear his life, and yours, are at risk."

"Why would anyone here, apart from the murderer, want to hurt us?" Donna understood politics and jealousy could push people toward strange choices, but Dick had nothing to do with either of those on Themyscira. And even if someone resented Donna's good fortune enough to harm her, they wouldn't go against the decree of the gods. Would they?

"No one here, Princess." Menalippe shook her head vigorously. "I fear the threat comes from beyond this world."

Dread swept through Donna. A threat from beyond this world … either a god-created monster, or the gods themselves. Neither one offered good odds. She refused to be intimidated by the thought. She would not lose the happiness she had to some divine whim. "If there is, Menalippe, that threat will have to go through me if it wants to touch him."

The oracle shied from the fury in her voice. "Perhaps it will not come to that. Once the Arrow of Strife is returned to its rightful owner, this evil may pass by you both. Perhaps that evil thing is the source of all my nervousness and the ceremony will set all things right again."

Donna doubted Menalippe believed a word of that soothing speech. She didn't appreciate being coddled either. But, she said nothing more. Instead, she took one of the cloths, unfolded it, and with a snap sent it flying over the table. She was forewarned now, and ready to face whatever threatened her happiness.

The white cloth briefly obscured her vision as it drifted slowly down. When it settled on the surface Donna flinched in surprise. The priestess Penelope stood at the opposite side of the table.

"My apologies, Princess," Penelope said. Her smile didn't quite reach her eyes. Then again, Donna thought, most expressions never quite reached the priestess' eyes. "The queen requests your presence, Menalippe. I believe she wants some insight into the newest member of her family."

So, that's what's troubling the starchy priestess, Donna thought. She doesn't approve of a man among her Amazons. She and Dick would have to deal with that attitude, unfortunately.

"Of course I shall attend the queen," Menalippe said. "But the preparations --"

"I'll take your place here," Penelope said. "Donna and I can finish."

"Thank you," Menalippe said. Donna had the sense that the oracle didn't want to leave, but she started toward the palace.

Penelope took one of the other cloths and moved to a table on the far side of the clearing, behind Donna.

At least the priestess didn't care for chit chat. Donna preferred the quiet for her thoughts, but she slowly became aware that the silence was too complete. Before, there had been at least the occasional chirp of a bird or insect. Now, the animal life had all gone still. Behind her, she heard a sharp gasp.

Donna pivoted, ready for a fight. Penelope stood, one hand against her heart and the other pointing into the shadows of the rocks. Her normally emotionless eyes were wide with fear. Donna narrowed her own eyes. Something did skulk in the darkness, more suggestion of form than form itself. It could well be the killer.

"Penelope! Get back!" Donna raced forward. The priestess was long out of practice as a warrior, but she was a Titan, a hero. To the skulker in the shadows she shouted, "Whatever you are, show yourself."

The form rose, still too indistinct to see clearly, but it seemed human enough. A mist lifted from the ground, just as Donna's foot left the mosaic circle. The gas shimmered a soft candy pink in the air before her face. Then, the whole world went dark.

-X-

The quiet slap of bare feet on marble made Diana look up to see Dick emerging from the room he'd been given in the palace. A pale green ritual robe draped from his shoulders to the floor. She wore an identical robe, as did all of the Amazons who would be attending tonight's ritual.

"Getting one of these to fit would be easier if you guys imported some elastic," he said, adjusting the robe around his waist.

Diana knew he was trying to cover his anxiety with humor. They'd been unable to find Donna in the palace. The priestesses said she was helping prepare the ritual grove, but that Dick couldn't disturb her there. He might have gone anyway if they hadn't assured him she wasn't alone. As it was, he remained tense and eager to be back to doing what was familiar -- figuring out crimes and capturing the offenders. Batman was right, they were very alike.

Except, Diana thought, Batman wouldn't have been as respectful of their Amazon customs. She found herself liking Donna's choice in spite of herself.

"We could always attend naked, if you prefer." She couldn't quite resist teasing a little. Bruce would've gone stony-faced, but Dick's expression suggested he might enjoy a naked ritual.

He cleared his throat. "I knew Greeks competed naked. I didn't know they celebrated naked."

"We are not, strictly speaking, Greeks anymore," Diana said, gesturing him to walk with her. "Our rituals and ceremonies have evolved over the centuries since we've been here."

"I see." Dick was silent a few steps, then he said, carefully, "If it's proper for this ritual to be performed naked, I don't want to offend."

Now Diana had to chuckle. "I shouldn't tease. No, this is not a celebration. It's an invocation. And the robes are appropriate attire." She led him down the palace steps, and they emerged into the cooler evening air. Singly or in small groups, her sisters threaded their way out of the city and toward the grove.

"What do I need to know?" Dick asked. "My Greek's not good enough to follow all of it."

Diana blinked. "You speak Greek?"

"A little. Donna taught me," he added to what she was sure was her puzzled expression. "When we were on monitor duty in Titans Tower. Had to do something to pass the time."

"I see." And she did -- more, she suspected, than he intended her to. A light had flickered in his eyes, and though she didn't know him well, she guessed the thought behind it. There were more interesting ways to pass time now that he and Donna were closer.

The light faded quickly though. He was clearly still worried. "So, where is the ritual?"

_How long will it take? When can we get back to more important matters?_ Diana read those questions in his words as well. "The ceremony will be performed in the grove. The high priestess fears the presence of the arrow could sully the temple. For the same reason, she will not be in attendance."

That last explanation had rung strangely in Diana's ears as Menalippe, the oracle, relayed it. But, all things about the arrow unsettled her. She wanted it gone from Earth, back to the gods who could properly tend it. And then she, like Dick, wanted to return to the matter of her sisters' murders. "The grove is usually used for meditation and marriages and for private offerings. But, the living setting is more easily purified than the stone of the temple. It's already prepared for what we must do."

"Efficient," Dick observed.

"Very," Diana agreed. The speed of that preparation still startled her, but Penelope and Menalippe were both excellent organizers, and it was possible that either of them had had some premonition that a ritual would be necessary. There was no need to read a sinister intent into that preparedness.

The path split in two at the edge of the palace gardens. To the left the broader way led down to the Grove of Antiope and Doom's Doorway. The path to the right followed the twisting edge of a cliff before cutting back into the hills. Diana led Dick that way. The seaward wind pulled at their hair and long robes, then died as they entered a grove of fruit trees. Several hundred Amazons had gathered, observers rather than participants in the coming ritual. The crowd parted to allow them to pass.

Euboea, one of Penelope's novitiates, waited before the white pillars with a stone bowl in her hands. To either side, other novitiates, some carrying baskets of fruit, others with flasks of wine, stood silent. Diana couldn't see Donna, however, and her sister's absence was puzzling.

She sensed rather than saw Dick pause beside her. He had noticed Donna was missing as well. "She'll be here," Diana reassured him. "She has the arrow."

"All right." He was trusting her. She felt the weight of that obligation settle on her.

Euboea presented the bowl for washing and Diana moved through the ritual, more distracted now than she would normally be. That wasn't good. It was important to focus on the gods when approaching them. They took offense easily, as her recent time on Olympus had made her all the more aware.

Then, a flask of wine was put into her hands. Beyond the trees and columns she saw the cloth draped table that would serve as altar, and Menalippe behind it. Dick finished his cleansing and stepped closer.

"I still don't see her," Dick said in the low tone this space demanded.

"Nor do I."

The novitiates filed past them into the sacred space. Each left her offering on the table, raised her arms in silent prayer, and moved away. Menalippe gestured Diana and Dick forward.

The moment their bare feet touched the mosaic, metal bowls of incense flared around the circle. Diana felt a force crash down behind them as secure as any cage. Dick might not realize it, but the gods had already come, and they held all within the grove. The hairs on the back of her neck rose. What was happening here?

One of the novitiates approached, either oblivious to or accepting of the sudden imprisonment. The case in her hands absorbed Diana's attention so completely that she didn't try to puzzle out the woman's placid response to the unexpected magic. The girl twisted the case open, revealing the silver Arrow of Strife. In halting English, she told Dick, "Take it to the altar."

"Where's Donna?" he demanded in a voice harsh enough that the girl took a step back.

If he wasn't careful, he could be struck down. Diana touched his arm. "Not now. We have to finish this. Then we will find her. I promise."

He turned to face her, mouth tight and eyes hard with anger.

"Dick, please. It has begun." She glanced around the circle in which they were trapped.

He must have caught her meaning, all of it, in that one glance. The anger never left his face, but he took a deep breath, steadied himself, and pulled the arrow free of its confinement.

As he carried the arrow to the table, Euboea led Diana to her place several paces to the rear. From there, she watched the young priestesses dance and sing. The chants poured from her lips rhythmically, but without heart. What had the gods tricked them into? And what had happened to Donna?

The power of the gods filled the space. To Diana it felt like a storm rising, full of ozone and the wet of rain. This was Zeus' work, not Artemis'. The sense of betrayal smothered her. Once, as the dancing reached its crescendo, Menalippe glanced over her shoulder. The oracle's eyes were wide and nervous, as if even she had been blind to the true purpose of the rite until that moment.

Lightning brightened the clear sky. Thunder shook the cliffs behind the grove. The brightness blinded. The roar deafened. For a moment, Diana stood in a world without sound or light. When her senses recovered, she saw the altar table had shattered. All the food and drink it had held lay scattered about the grove, rejected. The Arrow, however, had vanished. And, worst of all, so had Dick.


	11. Chapter 11

We wish we owned them; we'd treat them better than their owners sometimes have. But we don't.

-X- -X- -X- -X- -X-

The trouble with Greek clothing, I think in the aftermath of whatever happened at the ritual, is that it has no pockets or other places to conceal the weapon. I have to hold the Arrow of Strife next to my body, obscured only by the folds of my robe. Still, I like the feel of it. I never want to use it again, but its weight in my hand is some comfort.

I look around and have never been so glad I'm an acrobat. I'm used to seeing things from a variety of angles as I ride the jumplines across the rooftops, so this weird place with vertical roofs and ponds, and diagonal forests is only a little unsettling. And then I realize I've been here before. Olympus. Nothing good ever happened on Olympus, in my experience.

But if this is Olympus, then maybe … "Donna?"

I search but see no one else. Instead, some of the skewed buildings, gardens, and forests draw near and I can see figures beginning to materialize in various poses.

"She is otherwise occupied," a voice overhead booms in response.

I look up and see a gray-bearded man seated on a throne carved with lions and eagles. He looks different than I remember. "Zeus, I presume."

"Take care, human. Presume nothing in the home of the gods." That rough bass voice has to be Ares. The god steps forward from what appears to be a battlefield. He is dressed in black armor, from helm to boots, but his sword remains sheathed. That is another small comfort. There aren't many to be had here.

"Am I incorrect?" I can see that Ares is used to intimidating people, even other gods, and it's all I can do not to laugh. When it comes to intimidation, Ares has nothing on Bruce. I watch the war god's attitude shift from adversarial to cautious neutrality.

"Oooh." A female voice, made for phone sex. I look down to my right and see a blonde woman in a short toga sitting on a marble bench well below me. She is brushing her hair. "I did bless this one, didn't I? How could I have forgotten?"

I'll never grouse about the Amazons' ritual robes again. If it didn't touch my feet, Aphrodite -- who else could it be? -- would be getting a view I prefer to share by choice. Harper would jump at the invitation in her voice, but all I can think is that I'd rather have Donna.

"You are here to be tested," Zeus announces, ignoring Aphrodite. "Her choice must be deemed worthy."

Liar. Why do I think that so instantly? It's a starburst of certainty in my mind, and when I stop to analyze how I got here from there, I realize that Zeus' posture, the set of his heavily bearded jaw, even the cadence of his words fit together to form only one pattern. The Olympian lord wants to distract, not test.

Which is not to say that a test might not be involved. Given that these are Greek deities, the odds are that any test will involve a fight. At least I have powers to fight with, now. Running over them again is another kind of comfort. Speed, flight, strength, healing. The ability to see patterns where I couldn't before. That last gift, apparently, is astute enough to allow me to even read the gods, as I just read the lie in Zeus.

And then I hit a wall. Hecate's gift is still a mystery. I can only hope that it's not the one power I'll need most here. To need it and not know what it is could be fatal. Not that I've ever minded dying. In a lot of ways, I've been living on borrowed time since the night my parents died. I was supposed to be up there with them, but at the last minute, my father decided I needed more practice. I hated the decision then, but it saved my life. If I lose my life now, well, it's been a good run.

Awareness tickles my mind. I'm not the only one at risk here. I still don't know what's happened to Donna, nor what these gods want to do with her. I can live with dying if I have to, but if my ignorance leads to her death, I'll never forgive myself.

Those thoughts flash through my mind in less than a heartbeat, and again I give silent thanks for the arrow in my hand. I'm not dumb enough to shift my grip on it when I look at Zeus again. "Why?"

Bushy eyebrows draw together, and thunder rolls behind Zeus' words. "You dare question me?"

"I'm not questioning you," I say. "I'm questioning the reasoning behind this test." I let my tone convey my doubt that it is truly a test, but I continue before anyone can call me on it. "Donna told me that you enchanted the ambrosia with gifts befitting her companion. That implies you knew who she'd choose. If you knew, and approved of, her choice, why are you testing me?"

Nobody protests that I'm not the right choice, and it's strange that I'm relieved at that. Sure, Donna told me she chose me, but now I know she chose correctly. I should feel guilty for not trusting her in that, but we both have been through too many strange relationships for trust to come easily.

"He has you there, husband." That's Hera, has to be. She's strolling through a formal garden, and now I really know what it means to be a queen. I thought Diana was regal, but Hera must've invented the term. And then it hits me that she's on my side. "There is no need for mock tests. Allow him to bide in peace here until the task is accomplished."

She may be on my side, but she's made the back of my mind crawl. This is important. "What task?"

"It is not your concern," Zeus says. "It is for your lover to complete."

-X-

Artemis' crescent moon greeted Donna's gaze as she came awake. The silver sickle of light provided little illumination so far outside the city, so it was difficult at first to tell precisely where she was. She could make out the tops of trees shivering in the breeze, and to her left a mass of black shadow that could only be a cliff or wall.

"Good, you are awake." The voice belonged to the priestess. Penelope. Had she been trapped as well? And why were they both alive if they had been taken by the murderer?

"Can you stand? Are you free?" Donna pulled herself to her knees and then to her feet. Her head swam briefly, but she seemed otherwise fine. "We need to get back and warn the others."

"There is no threat to the others."

"No threat--" The priestess' tone struck her suddenly -- too calm, too determined, no hint of fear. It wasn't courage behind that serenity. It was cunning. "You drugged me. Why?"

"For the gods." Penelope stepped closer and Donna's eyes had adjusted enough that she could make out some of the details around her. They stood next to Doom's Doorway, and were not alone. The guards at the door watched them from a respectful distance, each holding tight to her spear and shield.

"Is this a game, Priestess?" Donna snapped. "First you kidnap me. Now you speak in cryptic riddles. What is the purpose of so much deception?"

"This gateway can lead you to the underworld. More specifically, to the various chambers of the underworld. The inner door needs to be aligned to the specific chamber you are to enter."

Donna squinted at the massive door. No effort had been made to beautify the hatch. Rather, it was as if the designer had wished to convey the evil beyond in the sheer ugliness of the portal. Three slabs of flat stone, green-mottled and flecked with brown, stood at least twenty feet high. They were bound together with black steel bars that sprouted metal thorns. A massive wheel in the center worked an ungainly system of bars and bolts.

Penelope nodded to the guards. The women bowed low, then silently began to turn the huge wheel and open the door.

Donna rounded on the priestess again. "What makes you think I'm going to enter that pit without a full explanation?"

"One does not question the will of gods." Penelope's chin rose and her voice trembled.

"Maybe you don't. But I have only your word that this is their will." Donna matched Penelope's stubborn stance. "What is going on?"

"A monster escapes this door, Princess." If the title could be a curse, Donna would be damned by the priestess' tone. "It kills your sisters as it searches for you. It knows you are the one chosen by the gods to contain it."

Menalippe's warning came back to Donna full force. "Contain it?"

"For eternity, yes."

Eternity, fighting a monster? Just when she and Dick had found each other and could imagine a long life together? That wasn't fair. Even the gods could not be that cruel. She grabbed at the first escape she could see. "Why me? Surely someone more pious, or skilled in the ways of gods, would suit the task better."

Penelope shook her head. "Only you can do this task. Forgive me if I speak of delicate or painful matters. It is not my intention to cause you sorrow. But, the gods have spoken. They require this sacrifice."

"There's a saying that the truth hurts," Donna said. She wanted to walk away, but if what Penelope said was true, to do so would doom her sisters to death. "There has to be some other way."

Dick would think of a better way. Oh, Dick. She couldn't leave him without a word. He'd come to Themyscira to help them, to help her. He loved her. "Even if I do this, I can't enter there without seeing my love once more. Surely, even you see that."

"You cannot see him."

"Bitch!" Donna exploded. "Not you or your gods can stop me from telling the man I love goodbye."

"You cannot see him because he is no longer here. The gods have taken him to Olympus as a hostage. They feared you were not loyal enough to take your duty willingly."

Penelope stepped through the now-open portal and lifted a taper from the wall. The darkness in that cavern was so complete that Donna hadn't seen the tiny flicker of light from the taper until it was in her hand. The priestess took out a pinkish crystal and held the candle close to it. A prism of light burst against the cavern's back wall, briefly illuminating damp rock. Then, a portal not unlike those Raven used opened.

An eternal hostage. The plan seemed so obvious now that Donna almost laughed. Perfect and cruel -- she was to fight eternally and, if she lost heart, the threat to her now-immortal love would hold her to the cause.

"I have no choice," Donna bit out the words. She felt hollowed out, emptied of hope or joy. She wanted to turn her back on the gods, to curse them, kill them, hurt them at least. But she couldn't. Not unless she wanted to storm Olympus itself, and even with Dick and maybe Diana at her side, she would lose that battle. Her promised eternity would be over before it had begun. But then, it was over in any case.

She straightened her spine and glared at Penelope. "But, I want them to know I would have done it if asked. They didn't have to destroy Dick's life too. Tell them that the next time you speak with them, Priestess."

She turned toward the portal, stepped through.

-X-

"Donna's more than my lover," I snap at Zeus. He made the word sound so casual, and Donna and I have never been casual. "She's my teammate, my partner, my friend, and my love. I should be with her, helping her."

"You serve her better as muse," Zeus says. "You inspire her to do what she must. But, if you would share her task, I allow you to observe."

"Follow me." By the laurel in his hair and the lyre under his arm, I decide the newcomer is Apollo. Ares falls into step behind us, and together the gods escort me to a raised stone basin about four feet in diameter. I can see the bottom of the basin through the still, clear water in it.

Apollo and Ares flank me. They try to be casual about it, especially Ares, but I know that they're supposed to ensure all I do is observe. And they think it'll take more than one of them to do it. They must believe my new powers to be significant. I like that idea. It gives me options.

When I focus on the water in the basin, it ripples just a little before flattening into a glassy surface. A light flickers deep within and resolves itself into Donna. My throat aches to call to her, but I won't until I know what's going on.

She's floating in a gray mist, and the lines of her body tell me she's ready for some battle. The scene expands until I can see what she's facing and my own body tenses as if to join her.

It's a dragon, or else a giant snake, swimming through the air powered by a scaly, gray tail. Its fore-parts are what make my gut clench. Long arms end in taloned hands that make me think of the piece of kertin I pulled out of the dead Amazon. The monster has a female torso and three wild-haired heads with beaked noses and gaping, fanged mouths. I have no idea what to call it. It isn't human, but it appears to speak as if it were.

"What are you making her do?" I'd dive into the well, but I have no guarantees that would do anything other than give Aphrodite a better view than she's had before. Assuming that Ares and Apollo would let me make the leap.

"She must prevent the creature from escaping its prison," Zeus says. "We imprisoned it and others like it at the dawn of time. Now this child of god-killers seeks to break its cage."

"You expect Donna to kill that thing?" I look at the image again. Donna has no weapons, except her body and her brain. Against almost any foe, those would be more than enough. But Zeus just said this thing kills gods, and I saw what it did to the woman Timandra.

"Not kill," Ares says, though I think he'd like it if she did. "No one can do that. We have lost the ability to make weapons that will kill creatures made at the beginning of time. But, she will hold it. She is like it, created not born, and the prophecies say that only such a one can hold the child of Typheus at bay."

"Speaking of weapons." The new voice reminds me of a female Bruce. The thought is enough to make me look over my shoulder, away from Donna. The newcomer resembles Apollo too much for her to be anyone but Artemis. "The Amazons have my arrow. They performed the ritual to return it to me. Where is it?"

I turn, and I have to conceal a smile when Apollo stumbles aside, out of reach of the arrow I'm holding. That small gesture tells me it gives me a huge advantage. "I have it, Artemis. And I'm not ready to give it back yet."

-X-

Around her, Diana's sisters picked themselves up from where they'd fallen or taken cover when the lightning struck. No one seemed to be badly injured, she thought, but voices rose with high-pitched, frantic questions. "What does this mean?" "Are the gods angry?" "Are we in danger?" "Where is the handsome youth who held the arrow?"

Diana let the questions slip past her attention. Only the oracle would know the answers to these and other more important questions, Diana thought, if she still lived. She ran forward, leaping over the remains of the altar table to land gently beside Menalippe.

The oracle had jumped back, or been thrown by the force of the blast, apparently, and was only now struggling to sit up. Her eyes stared, wide with shock, at the remains of the ritual. She trembled, and Diana could remember only one other event that caused such fright in the oracle's expression -- that had led to the contest that made her Wonder Woman. She didn't want to think what this event might portend.

"Menalippe?" Diana rested a hand gently on the other woman's shoulder.

The oracle looked up at Diana, and for long moments there was no recognition in her eyes. Then she blinked. "Princess?"

"What's happened? Are the gods displeased?"

"I don't think so." Menalippe clasped Diana's hand so she could steady herself as she stood. "But, that is only the dimmest sense of things. It's as if a door has been closed to me. It was the same when I saw danger for Donna."

"What danger for Donna?"

"I felt she was in danger, but there were no specifics. I warned her, and then she was gone when I returned to complete preparations for the ceremony."

"Gone?" Fear knotted Diana's stomach and must've shown on her face, because Menalippe hurried to reassure her.

"I left her with the high priestess. And when I returned, the preparations were nearly complete. I was certain they'd gone on to more important duties and left the final preparations to me as officiant."

"Of course," Diana agreed, but thoughts of Donna were uppermost. She hadn't seen her sister at the ritual, and assumed she'd been lost in the press of bodies. Still, if Donna had attended, she'd be here with Diana, investigating, questioning. Therefore, Donna hadn't ever been here.

"With your leave, Princess?" Menalippe's question reminded her that there were others who needed reassurance as well, and Diana nodded absently.

She had to find Donna. Whatever danger the oracle had sensed, Diana wouldn't let her sister face it alone.

Diana was no detective, but she'd spent enough time with the best to know that you followed the trail as it presented itself. She didn't know where Donna might be now, but if, as the oracle said, Donna had last been with Penelope, then finding her was Diana's next step.

-X-

Hate is such an unfamiliar emotion. I may have hated Dark Angel when I realized what she'd done to me, but it was a sad, watery feeling. Like crying. This is heated and sharp, a blade fresh from the forge. I wish I had such a molten weapon as I face this monster, but the creature is not the focus of my hate.

It is the focus of my energy, however. I catch her tail. The scales cut my hands. A sharp twist and I feel her spine snap. She screams -- such a hideous wail that I feel a momentary pity ride the wave of my hatred.

I use her brief retreat to check my surroundings. Dick taught me to always be aware of place and how it can be used in a fight. This place, however, offers so little. I float in a void. Above, it's as purple as the edge of space. Below, it's freezing white. An endless dark sky meeting an endless miasma of weightless frost. No place for purchase, for landing. Fortunately, I am good at flying.

The monster recovers quickly. She is gray and muscular. An insane fury burns in her six eyes. Three heads, three brains, but I see no spark of intelligence in any of them. Her eyes are as cold and dead as a shark's. Maybe once she was a rational creature, capable of reason and thought. No more. I wonder if an eternity trapped in this featureless place destroyed what mind she had. That wondering leads to another: In the end, will I be as much a monster as she?

I have already killed her. Not once, but several times. Each melee eats a bit more of my compassion. Dick hates killing. I repeat it over and over, a mantra to remind myself who and what I have been, what I am, what I have to remain.

And that is the focus of my hate. I hate the gods who condemn me to tear myself away from everything he believes, everything I too believe. I hate the gods who would make me a monster.

A wail cuts through this hideous world, sharp as the wickedest knife blade. I cover my ears against the anger of that scream. The monster charges me again.


	12. Chapter 12

Artemis fixes me with a hunter's gaze. "Who are you to decide when to return what is mine?"

"Nobody special," I say. "Just the guy whose life and love you're messing with this time."

Where Aphrodite checked me out, Artemis is deciding whether I'm prey or fellow hunter. I know that look. I've used it myself. "So you're the one. I suppose she could've chosen worse." I don't know what she's thinking, but there's some grudging respect in her tone. From what I remember of mythology, she and men don't have a great history. "Still," she says, "I will have my arrow back."

"And I will have Donna back."

It's not a threat, or I don't intend it to be. But Ares takes a step forward, snarling. "Upstart mortal. This is why I opposed this foolishness from the beginning."

"Which foolishness?" I ask. My new sense of patterns is on full alert.

"All of it," Ares says.

"It was necessary," Zeus talks over his son. "You know that."

"I do not know it." Ares removes his dark helm and I'm surprised to see he's … blond. I would've expected dark hair, I guess, to match the dark and brooding god. Clearly, I associate dark and brooding too much with Bruce.

The war god is glaring at the king of the gods. "I know that you chose it. I don't know it's necessary."

Darkening clouds reflect Zeus' emotions. "The daughter of Typheus must be contained."

"Or killed," Ares says. "We do not know that the beast will attack Olympus. And if she does, I will kill her then."

"You will try, brother." A new voice, one serene and yet passionate. The new arrival has an owl perched on her shoulder, and I recognize Athena. "There is no guarantee of your victory."

"Enough." A crack of thunder emphasizes Zeus' words. "This was debated and decided. It is done."

"Decided, aye," I hear Ares mutter, "but not much debated."

Their argument has revealed the situation more clearly. They've admitted the monster can kill a god, and Zeus fears it. They can't make a weapon to kill it, and yet Ares believes he can. He believes the weapons already exist, but other gods are loath to use what they cannot replace, and for that misplaced conservation Donna is forced to fight a stalemated battle for eternity. In a burst of inspiration, I realize I'm holding one of those much coveted and preserved weapons in my hand.

"I can distract you, if you'd like." Aphrodite's sensual voice accompanies the sudden brush of her toes against my ankle. I look down. She's moved her bench quite close to the basin that shows me Donna's combat and beneath the hem of my robe, she's playing footsie with me.

I step away, resisting the urge to kick her foot aside. "I'd rather have an explanation. Why does the king of gods need an Amazon to fight his battles for him?"

I believe I know the true answer, but what they say could be revealing as well.

"Prophecy, as always." Aphrodite pouts and seems bored with the subject, but willing to indulge. I smile encouragingly, and her eyes light. For once, I don't mind if someone sees me as just a pretty face. "There are few monsters who are destined to destroy Zeus. This is one. She may not seem exceptionally formidable, but supposedly she is immune to his lightning bolts."

"Enough prattle!" Zeus has noticed our discussion. "There is no need for explanation. Donna will serve as ordered, and he--" there's an element of disdain in Zeus' voice when he refers to me "--will ensure her service."

I will, but only until I can figure out how to end this circus. I go over my new powers again. Strength, speed, flight, healing, seeing patterns -- none of these will help. Perhaps Hecate's gift would, but I don't know what it is.

I look around for her, and then laugh at myself. My knowledge of mythology is limited to the main pantheon and their symbols. How will I know Hecate if I see her?

"All know me when they see me." Hecate emerges from a shadow between pillars. She appears young, as all the Olympians do, but her presence is heavy with age. She smiles at me, apparently sensing my thought. "Indeed I am older than these child-gods. I stood beside their parents, and then beside Zeus when he fought them."

I nod, not quite a bow. She's the only one who feels like a god should feel -- immeasurably old and deep as the Earth itself. For once, I don't know what to say, how to ask the question I need answered without being rude.

"Walk with me?" It's not an order, but I fall into step with her as I would with Bruce if he said the same thing. We don't go far, only beneath the portico of her hidden temple. I can still see the pool, and the gods surrounding it, but I sense that they no longer see us. I keep to her right side so the arrow in my right hand remains free to use. I think she knows what I'm doing and why, but she doesn't object.

"Zeus may rule the gods, but I rule magic," she says. "And I do not give magic to mortals."

"So you didn't bless the ambrosia."

"No. His command was merely to give a gift. He did not specify the nature of the gift, and he has no need to know what it is."

"Do I?" Making assumptions here might have deadly consequences.

She laughs. "Of course you do. I will not give you magic in any form, but I will perform one magical task for you."

I wait for her to add, "Choose it well," but she doesn't. I guess she hasn't seen enough Hollywood movies to know she's supposed to.

"You may consider as long as you wish," she says.

"I know what I want you to do." And I do. This is the final playing piece. I have the plan fixed in my mind now. Donna and I may yet have forever.

"Already?" Now she seems surprised. Disappointment flickers across her face. "Gold, I suppose?"

I show her the Arrow of Strife, its tip pointed away from us both. I know this is my shield against these gods, and surrendering it will put me at risk of their anger. But, I see no other way to help Donna win her fight. "Send this to Donna. She'll know what to do with it."

Hecate stares a moment, then respect replaces disappointment in her expression. "She chose well." But, she doesn't take the arrow.

Suddenly I'm unsure. "You can do it, right? Magic can do anything."

"I cannot send that between worlds without a portal." She glances at the distant pool. "If the tip breaks the surface of the water, I can carry it to her hands."

Good enough. I judge the distance and the crazy angles of this place. The gods still stand guard, but they have no idea how I move.

-X-

I wish I could talk to this monster, but she is beyond speech, beyond reason. She is capable only of destruction, and therefore must be destroyed herself -- not with anger or hate, but compassion. If I could end it for her quickly and mercifully, I would. Not just for her, but for me as well.

I think of Dick. He gave up mortality for me, something Kyle refused to do, something Terry would not even have understood. He didn't do it for the power, or because he feared death. He did it to be with me. I think of him alone with the gods who tricked us both, and wonder if he suffers the same hatred I do.

No, I answer immediately, he won't be wasting time with hate. He'll be planning a way out of this spectacle. Like Roman gladiators, Typheus' daughter and I destroy each other repeatedly to satisfy the whims of a cruel and selfish audience. I wonder if they watch us now, those gods. I wonder if they make him watch, and if so, is it changing what he feels for me? Is he learning to hate me as he watches?

I wish--

I feel my fingers close without willing them to do so. A weapon rests suddenly in my hand. I spare a glance. The Arrow of Strife.

Typheus' daughter closes, shrieking. Her claws extend. She has already shredded my clothes and slashed my skin, though no wound has been too deep to heal.

I don't think. I let my body move as it has been trained. I have to let her grab me to get close enough. I smell her rank, blood-spoiled breath. I plunge the arrow into her between two of her three heads, where I think the artery should be. Her blood spurts, hot enough to burn me.

And she dies. She turns to dust around me, much as Dick described the death of Blockbuster. I watch the gray dust drift down into the white mist below. And then the arrow crumbles as well, spent of its killing power. My hand is empty. It's over.

I know this is Dick's doing. He sent me the arrow. He outsmarted the gods. I want to shout, to dance. Mostly, I want to hold him. I turn to go back the way I came, but I see no door, no portal. And then I realize I do not know how to get home.


	13. Chapter 13

And now we've come to the end of our story. We hope Dick and Donna, et al, have enjoyed this little adventure we've borrowed them for (we only wish they were ours, or that DC and its parent(s) would let us officially play with them for a while).

Thank you all for reading, and for your generous -- sometimes VERY generous -- comments. We're hoping to collaborate on a couple of more fics, but since one of us lives on the East Coast and one of us lives near the West Coast, collaborating is a bit of a challenge. When we do, though, we'll post the results here.

Thanks again, and we hope you've enjoyed reading it as much as we enjoyed writing it.

-X- -X- -X- -X- -X-

I feel the arrow vanish from my hand and finish the cartwheel leap that took me over the basin and let me plunge the arrowhead into the water. I land in a crouch, one hand down for extra balance. From here, it's an easy twist to any number of fighting stances, but I take a breath to assess the situation. Ares and Apollo are only now turning to face me with almost identical stunned expressions, and beyond them stands an angry Zeus.

A Nightwing in the hands of an angry thunder god is not in a good place.

We're frozen for a moment that might be an eternity, and then Apollo looks around. "Which one of you gave him that kind of agility?"

I'd laugh if the situation weren't so dire. "Hate to disappoint you, but I earned that on my own."

"She was not intended to kill it!" Zeus' booming exclamation tells me Donna succeeded, but my elation is killed by his anger.

I stand carefully, calculating the dangers. Ares has recovered from his shock and Zeus can't see the nod he gives me. His face is serious, but there's laughter in his eyes. He won't engage me. Apollo looks disgusted and might be goaded into a fight. Athena is pleasantly surprised. Aphrodite -- I look away from her. She's wondering whether that agility is useful in other situations. Finding out is a pleasure reserved for me and Donna.

I note all of that as I stand, and then my anger rises to meet the thunder god. "If you're telling me you'd rather imprison someone forever, locked in an eternal fight, then she killed the wrong monster."

All of Olympus goes storm dark, and the lightning flashes blindingly bright, the thunder rolls deafeningly loud. Good job, Dick, now the king of the gods is even more pissed off. You're supposed to be good at calming tense situations, not making them worse.

I'll try, but I've never had to calm a god before. "There were other options, especially if Artemis has more of these arrows lying around. I don't understand why you'd choose the one you did."

I do, actually, but I'm not stupid enough to say it aloud. They've grown lazy and complacent and don't want their peaceful retirement disturbed. They don't want to waste weapons they can no longer make. Better torture Donna and me forever than risk their own convenience.

"One prophesized adversary at a time," Athena provides an additional answer. Maybe I'm judging too quickly. "And when defeated, another is sent. Our father wished to break the chain."

"I've spoken before about explanations." The air around Zeus crackles with ozone. "They are not needed. Your purpose is to obey, to provide what we need without question."

"When do you provide what we need?" I ask. "The relationship between gods and men has always been reciprocal."

"Men have abandoned the gods. We owe you nothing."

"You want to know why people abandoned you?" I can't help myself. Too much of Bruce's confrontational nature in me. "It's because you don't understand we're not ignorant slaves."

I turn slowly, meeting each one's gaze. More gods have arrived, silently, even their presences still in this gathering. Most of them I don't recognize, but all of them are watching and listening intently.

"We were ignorant, once," I say, and wish I'd paid more attention in history and literature classes. "That's when you came and taught us, helped us. But that was a long time ago. We've grown up."

My circuit complete, I face Zeus again. "I'm not saying we don't need gods anymore -- but how we need you has changed. You failed to change with us."

Words come to me, bubbling from memory. I see the place where Slade sent me, and the girls who delivered his message, all the ordinary tourists at the monument. It isn't life passing before my eyes. It's the truth I'm trying to show the gods. "One of our greatest presidents said that laws and institutions must go hand in hand with the progress of the human mind. It's your choice, all of yours," I add, acknowledging the gods gathered here. "Stay here on Olympus, distant, forgotten, unworshipped. Or get to know us again and get involved."

"Are you offering to be an ambassador and aide?" Apollo appears to be coaching more than questioning me. "If we send you home?"

"More a liaison, at first. Later, maybe, an ambassador." I don't say why I can't be their ambassador right away, but they all know. They haven't earned enough of my respect yet.

Apollo nods. Several others as well. They want this. Even Zeus sees it, and though his fury is not tempered, he doesn't countermand them. I've won. So why am I still tense?

The king of gods says, "It is agreed. Leave us."

A sudden blackness. Dick landed, not gently, on stone.

It was dark. Night. The same night he'd left? He had to think so. Behind him, leaves rattled accompaniment to the more distant music of the surf. Ahead of him a wall of darkness loomed in the pale moonlight. A rusty stench assaulted his nostrils. He blinked, and a pair of figures standing close together, confrontational, came into focus. He recognized Diana immediately. The other woman he'd met, but had to search for her name. She was the priestess, he remembered. Penelope.

"Open the gate," Diana demanded. She held something bright in her hands. Her lasso. Dick could see that one end of it was wrapped around Penelope's forearm.

"Nice way to start a partnership," Dick muttered, hoping the gods would hear, as he pulled himself to his feet. Diana either hadn't heard him or was too focused on what she was doing to respond.

"I cannot obey, Princess." Penelope's chin went up in defiance. "Your lasso cannot force me to betray the gods who made it."

But, the priestess wanted to help. Dick saw that, clearly, though he had no idea why she'd choose to go against the gods she served. So he asked, "What's going on?"

His voice made both women jump. Diana recovered first. "Dick! Thank the gods you're all right."

"We'll talk about those gods later." Later, when he wasn't still angry with them. "What's happened?" He stepped closer, cursing the long robes that hindered his movement. They hadn't on Olympus, thankfully, or he'd never have managed to get the arrow to Donna.

"Donna is beyond that portal, trapped in combat with some monster." Diana pointed with her free hand toward the cliff, and now Dick made out a massive door opening into blackness beyond. "And I would help her kill it so we can return together, or else I will take her place. I caused her to be in this position, and I will free her from it."

"She's already killed it." Dick directed his words to the priestess as much as to Diana. "If Donna's not back yet, it's because the bastard refuses to release her."

"If the gods demand she remain, I cannot free her," Penelope insisted.

It struck Dick that Zeus could well be petty enough to lock Donna in Hell forever because her boyfriend had mouthed off. Or it could be that the king of the gods thought leaving her there would ensure Dick's cooperation, as his presence on Olympus should have ensured hers? Trying to think like the gods did was giving him a headache. But, punishment planned didn't mean punishment accepted.

To Diana he said, "Tell her to explain how to open the gate. If she can't do it, we will."

Diana repeated the question. Penelope closed her eyes and took a deep breath. "There is a crystal," she said, compelled by the lasso. "Concealed in my robe. Light beamed through the correct facet will open the correct portal. But there are many facets and many angles at which to hold them to the light. Many doorways. Only one leads to Donna."

"Which one?" Diana snapped.

"No." Penelope shook her head. "I cannot tell you that."

"It's a puzzle," Dick concluded. "One he doesn't expect us to figure out. He expects me to take eternity trying." And he's still underestimating humans. _Especially me._

"Give him the crystal," Diana ordered.

Penelope obliged, producing the crystal, a half-burnt candle, and the flint and steel to light it. Dick took them all to the rear of the cave. There, he found a small crevice, barely lit by moonlight. It looked like a half-healed wound, and had to be the closed portal. He lit the candle and held up the crystal to study it. There had to be a pattern, a way of figuring out which door to open.

Within the crystal a thousand tiny fissures carved innumerable patterns. Tiny inclusions of various materials would alter the light passing through as well. His brain could calculate only so many refractions before it got lost in the inner faceting. It would take him years to work it all out, if he ever could.

This is what Zeus wants, Dick realized. He expects me to get lost in the direct problem. But, that's not how Dick had been taught to think. There had to be a different solution. The priestess needed a way of knowing, and remembering, the proper positions. She'd have to hold it in her hand so -- he mimicked what he thought should be the reasonable movement, adjusting for Penelope's height and frame. His little finger brushed the most miniscule of patterns carved into the base of the stone.

He turned the crystal over, studied the base. But, even with the candle held close, he could not see the carvings, if that's what they truly were. He went on instinct, and held the stone as if he were using it again. He closed his eyes so he could focus solely on touch. Yes, the markings were tiny letters. He had to struggle to remember the Greek Donna had taught him, but he could make out words, names of locations. Most of them meant nothing to him, but if he held the crystal just so he could make out the word "Limbo."

Limbo. The place he'd seen through the basin fit every definition of Limbo he'd ever heard. It was a guess, but it felt right to his sense of pattern. There was only one way to be certain.

"Be ready, Diana." Dick held the candle up to the crystal, directed its flame toward the gash in the back wall.

A portal yawned open, and he tensed, ready for battle in case he'd chosen the wrong door.

"Dick? Dick!" He barely had time to register that it was, in fact, Donna on the other side of the portal before she flew at him, throwing her arms around him.

He dropped the crystal and candle, wrapped her in his arms. He'd felt her instinctively pull back the moment she touched him, and tightened his own hold on her. Against her ear he whispered, "Squeeze as hard as you like. I won't break now."


End file.
